


Where The Ocean Meets the Sky

by magnumopustron



Series: Baby Pancakes [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Brainwashing, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Feels, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, In Vitro Fertilization, M/M, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, Mpreg, Natasha Is a Good Bro, Other, Period Typical Transphobia, Period-Typical Homophobia, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pregnancy, Protective Natasha, Rape Recovery, Trans Character, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-15
Updated: 2017-11-14
Packaged: 2018-04-26 13:27:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 30,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5006488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magnumopustron/pseuds/magnumopustron
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Asset is pregnant. It's all very inconvenient.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Intel

**Author's Note:**

> This isn't for a kink meme or anything. I'm just crazy. 
> 
> Bucky is a transgender man in this story. If you are not comfortable with that, please do not read the story.  
> Premise: Bucky has a vagina and functioning uterus. Hydra wanted to create another super soldier, so they impregnated him a la in vitro fertilization. Bucky has no idea he is a transgender man because he doesn't know what that means. He discovers he is pregnant thanks to some creepy videos of Hydra scientists and must decide what to do with the fetus. 
> 
> I just picked the title because it popped into my head and it sounded good. Then I realized that it is in fact a line of a song, and the song oddly fits Bucky's story. My subconcious must be stopped.

 

**Brooklyn, New York, 1937**

 

Steve Rogers is lying on a bed coughing. He is very thin. The bed is narrow; the old kind with springs. It's summer, late summer, so he and James Buchanan Barnes are not sharing the bed at this time.

Steve gets up and walks out of the bed room into the small living room that also functions as a kitchen. He is concerned. He is fully dressed, in a shirt, trousers, and suspenders. He even has his shoes on. Steve Rogers has his pride. Even if he is sick, he refuses to lie around undressed.

Barnes is standing by the closed door, his forehead pressed against it. Late afternoon sunlight glows in from the small window by the door.

Steve Rogers calls out to him. “Bucky?”

Barnes shakes his head, more so wobbles it against the door frame. He lets out a soft curse that is also a sob.

“Bucky?”

Bucky slams his fist against the wall, cursing again. He is trying not to cry because he is ashamed. He is a grown man and men should not cry.

“God. Fuck!” he sobs.

“Buck what's wrong?”

“They know!” he turns and shouts, trying to hide the tears, trying to hold them back by crumpling up his face. But the asset knows that this almost never works; the tears will come anyway. “They _know_ , that's what! They fucking _found out_ , Steve!”

Steve merely looks at him, narrow face and blue eyes heartbreakingly beautiful in the afternoon sunlight. Barnes has a thought he is ashamed of: Why couldn't _Steve_ be born a girl?

He's beautiful. He's small and willowy and he would be a _perfect_ girl.

James _should have_ been a boy. 

But he knows that's unfair. Because Steve is every bit a real man in all the ways that matter, more than just what's between his legs. Bucky is selfish and horrible. 

His chest is tight and his eyes are hot. The room is stuffy so he turns around to open the window.

Steve Rogers coughs and Barnes curses.

“Come on, let's get you back to bed,” he wipes at his face with his bare arm, embarrassed, as he moves to usher Steve back to his narrow bed. “C'mon pal.”

“'m all right, Buck.” The younger man protests as he's led to the cot. “M all right. 'S just a co-” His insistence that he's all right is broken off by more coughing.

“You're already getting a cold,” Barnes curses their luck. He's just lost his _fucking job_ because he's a damn _girl_ and they can't have girls at the docks for some reason. For some reason, girls can't pick up crates and put 'em on a pallet. For some reason, you gotta have a dick to do that.

He knows it has to do with the environment, but it's just stupid! He's not a girl! He's never _really_ been a girl and anyway, any man who wants to fuck him is outta their mind or sick.

Barnes isn't delicate and pretty. He's all hard lines and too wide shoulders and too flat a chest – thank God his chest is too flat. There was no way anybody would have known if it wasn't for fucking Billy Hannigan and his big fat mouth.

But it's his fault Hannigan found out. Bucky knows that. It got suspicious apparently that he never pissed off a dock or in an alleyway and Hannigan cornered him outside the one available outhouse near the dock where they worked. Fucking Hannigan shoving his hand down Bucky's pants. Bucky should have shanked him and dumped his ass somewhere.

It was just lucky the boss thought Bucky was a good worker. That was the only reason he didn't call the police. Barnes is still trembling because he fears a white truck coming for him and taking him away forever. He feels like he cheated death. 

Should. Have fucking. Shanked him.

Stevie's worth it after all. Stevie's worth any amount of jail time. Then again if Bucky went to jail, he wouldn't be able to take care of Steve.

They'd put him in with the girls too. That would be even _worse._

“Shh, hey,” he insists, pushing Steve Rogers' shoulders down so that he sits. “You need to get your rest. Hey, want me to read to ya? Like I used to?”

He forces a smile.

“Sure,” Steve says, the corners of his lips tugging up a little. It's probably Bucky's favorite expression of his; that small, slightly sardonic smile. Sometimes Steve's eyebrow quirks up along with it.

“A'right,” Bucky goes to grab _The Great Gatsby_ even though he thinks it's the stupidest book he's ever read and it's all on account of Steve that he even reads books as a past time. Seems like a waste of time to him, lyin' around readin' a book when you could be out dancin' or just... doing anything else. But sometimes the books are good. _The Great Gatsby_ is stupid though because the guy the book is named after really isn't so hot anyway – in Bucky's opinion he's just an idiot who falls in love with a stupid girl who doesn't know what's good for her. But he can see why Steve likes it because Gatsby makes Bucky think of Steve – under appreciated kid who'd give his heart to a girl and end up alone. He can see that. He curses himself for thinking that though. Stevie deserves someone great and even if nobody else ever sees that, he'll always have Bucky Barnes at his side.

Stevie is smirking too, that eyebrow cocking up just like it should, cause he knows the real reason Bucky can't stand _The Great Gatsby:_ it breaks his heart.

* * *

 

**Akron, Ohio, 2014**

 

The asset frowns at the worn paperback in his hand. He'd been reading the first few lines, muttering them to himself, when the memory struck. James Buchanan Barnes was reading to Steve Rogers and he was upset because... because he'd come in a few moments before and cried against the door. He'd tried to come in quietly so that Steve Rogers wouldn't hear but he had heard Barnes crying quietly and cursing to himself.

Herself. _Her_ self?

Barnes had lost his job... because he was a woman? But he _wasn't_ a woman, he was a _man_. He had always been a man, always dressed as a boy. The asset recalled that someone had tried to get him to wear dresses but he had never taken to it. He had always been “buck wild” and that was why he was “Bucky.” Maybe.

The asset wasn't sure about the nickname but he remembered a woman saying that he was “buck wild” and that woman had tried to make him wear a dress. She was a woman with a worn, tired face, and brown hair; the asset was pretty sure it was his mother.

Barnes's mother. _Your mother too,_ a voice in the asset's mind insisted. _Our mother._

But “our” was just too confusing. No. The asset _was_ or at least _had been_ James Buchanan Barnes at some point in time. He was not now.

The memory was confusing in more ways than one. The asset mentally pushed aside the crisis of identity to focus on the mysterious sex of Barnes.

Women weren't allowed to join the military in the 1940s, at least, not the infantry. He seemed to recall a woman serving in some capacity – an officer of some kind. Probably Margaret Carter, Steve's love interest. He'd seen a video of her at the Smithsonian. She had beautiful brown eyes and a striking little jaw.

But she was an agent – Agent Carter. Not a soldier.

So how had Barnes ended up a Sargeant when he was a woman? It stood to reason that Barnes had to pass a medical exam at some point. Steve Rogers had been denied several times based on his frail health. Only Erskine's intervention had enabled his entry. Had someone intervened for Barnes? Who?

The asset turned to the laptop he'd liberated from a Hydra safehouse. The internet might have more information on this. There had been nothing about Barnes's sex in the Smithsonian.

A search of 'James Buchanan Barnes' yielded a Wikipedia page with the same sort of information in the Smithsonian. Barnes was born in Brooklyn on March 10, 1917 as the oldest of four children, etc. There was no mention of any biological anomaly.

Then again, this wasn't really an _anomaly_ , the asset considered. Barnes was merely a woman in disguise.

Something told him there was more to it than that though. He searched for an hour, refusing to accept that no one had any information concerning the thing between his legs. Apparently it was a secret. His memories certainly corroborated that Barnes had worked to keep his sex a secret.

But why? Why did it matter if he was a woman?

He could see the practical considerations of such a thing – Barnes needed money and the higher paying jobs in existence at the time were only for men. A woman would not have been permitted to work at the docks or in any of the hard labor environments where Barnes typically found employment. He'd had no trouble appearing to be a man since he was masculine; tall with broad shoulders and a flat chest.

_People always noticed that he was pretty though. They'd say as much; he was a pretty boy. He got into a fight once with Jimmy Sullivan and Jimmy had leered at him, asking him why he had tits that shook like a girl's when he ran. Bucky was seventeen and he learned to wear loose shirts to hide his chest._

Barnes didn't seem to be as adamant about going to war as Steve Rogers had been though, and that was where things got murky. Why enlist and be drafted when a simple change of clothes could have kept him safe from the draft? It also meant that Barnes had to have been permanently on record as a man, which meant that someone had definitely intervened on his behalf. Why?

The memory informed him that Barnes – that he – had always had female organs, so it wasn't that Hydra had altered him in that manner. But no historical texts seemed to correspond to or support his memory.

But the truth was right there between his legs so there had to be _something_ , _somewhere_ about this!

The internet yielded nothing useful concerning Barnes. He even tried typing “female James Buchanan Barnes” but that resulted in nothing but drawings and women in costume, dressed as the famous war hero. Then he tried “James Buchanan Barnes female sex organs” which resulted in fictionalized accounts of Barnes's sexual prowess. People really were _strange_ in this day and age.

He tried typing “man with female sex organs.” He found an article about a man who apparently was born with a fully functioning uterus and ovaries and didn't know about it. But his female organs were only internal. Barnes's were external and he had no penis.

He found more articles about a condition called 'intersex' and after some reading, wondered if that might fit Barnes. Perhaps doctors had made a mistake and surgically altered him as an infant? Apparently this was common procedure with intersex infants. It might explain why he had a masculine name and was able to join the military.

He found nothing online about Barnes having such a procedure.

He tried typing “woman who acts like a man” and found articles including speculation of why a woman would do so. With a huff of frustration, he scrolled down until he found a link to a post where someone asked what such a woman might be called. There were a variety of terms, including one the asset had never heard of - “transgender.”

He felt a twinge of excitement when he read further on the topic. There were even images and videos of such individuals, showing some kind of transformation that was apparently enabled by hormones. Maybe this was how Barnes had become masculine? But he had never been able to afford a surgery to alter his lower body and after some more investigation, the asset found that such surgeries were not available before the 1950s.

There was the puzzling matter of his chest. The asset had few scars since his body healed most damage and the scars he did have were likely from when he was Barnes and not yet altered by the serum. He had no scars beneath his pectorals to suggest a bilateral mastectomy. Perhaps Hydra had altered his chest?

He tried to think back and recall if Barnes had breasts. Apparently breasts could be hidden by binding them in bandages or wearing a “binder.” His memories were still too blurry for such details. He could see Steve in his mind, in perfect detail, remember his words, remember the cover of the book, but Barnes's own form was a blur in his peripheral vision.

He typed into the search box once more: “Was James Buchanan Barnes transgender?”

He found a link to an article at the top of the list of results.

The website was called “The Huffington Post” and someone had written an article about “leaked” photos that showed a child Barnes wearing a dress with a wide brimmed hat. There were three different photographs; two of which showed the child of no more than eight years staring dolefully into the camera. The dress seemed to be white and frilly.

The final photograph was of a more familiar youth – likely in their early teens – Barnes with his sister Rebecca and another baby girl, all wearing dresses. Barnes's eyes were slightly wide in the last picture, as if he was wary of something. He certainly looked out of place in the dress – gawky and angular. His hand rested on Rebecca's shoulder, while her hands rested on the baby's. The baby was sitting on a chair of curled iron. The caption under the picture read; “Pictured here are James Buchanan Barnes with sisters Rebecca and Rose.”

_Pearl hadn't been born yet._

The thought surprised the asset. The Smithsonian exhibit had mentioned Pearl Barnes Proctor only once – at a glass case that contained wartime letters of his. She was mentioned on a placard thanking her for the donation of the letters. He pondered at the contents of the letters. Had Pearl known about her brother's condition?

The writer of the article seemed skeptical of the photographs although she acknowledged that the teen in the final photograph certainly appeared to be Barnes.

The article ended with a mention that none of the Barnes family were responding to any questions about the photographs.

The comments below the article were full of people arguing. Some suggested that young children in the twenties had often been put in dresses, whether they were boys or girls. One person argued that boys had only been put in dresses when they were _infants,_ not small children.

The asset leaned back against the headboard of the bed and sighed. It was time to consult the files he'd found on the laptop from the safe house. There were several folders disguised under names composed of alpha numerical symbols. Some were even in Russian.

There were files on his arm including descriptions of maintenance and even blueprints. He had already perused those. There was a feeding schedule along with a record of recent wipes. His teeth clenched in frustration as he searched.

There! Medical notes by technicians...

“Asset given 110 mg. Displaying erratic behavior.”

A hundred and ten miligrams of what?

Followed by a signature he couldn't read. He kept scanning the document, squinting.

“Post wipe asset is to report to LEWIS, D. per Secretary's orders.”

 

The asset – James – tried to remember any 'D. Lewis,' and came up blank. A doctor, maybe?

The name didn't bring any handlers to mind.

He opened another file in the same folder and straightened in his seat, surprised to see a picture. It was a plain ID shot on what appeared to be a profile for a HODGES, RYAN. As he scrolled down, he spotted other files including two he recognized – ROLLINS, JACK and RUMLOW, BROCK.

The commander of the team the asset had sometimes been paired with. But why was his picture in the asset's medical profile?

He read some of the text by the first picture:

“Blood Type – O positive

180 lbs, 5'10'

45 yo”

The profile also included a description of Rumlow's service to Hydra followed by physical data such as his family medical history. All of the profiles contained corresponding information. Still, he found no reason as to why their information was stored under his files. For some reason his flesh palm was damp. He clamped then loosened his fingers and looked at it, noting his heart rate as well which seemed to have increased.

Then he opened the next folder and his entire world fell open.

 

James stared. There were dozens of images and videos in this folder; all with dates and times in the corner all with the same subject – himself.

The asset was unconscious in all of them, which was not surprising as he remembered nothing of what he saw. Of course, if they'd wiped him after these... procedures, then he would remember none of it anyway.

He clicked on one of the videos, opening it to watch. Then he clicked through each video, watching them all in order.

At the beginning of each video, he lie on his back as techs gathered around him in one of the videos. His legs were up, supported by metal stirrups, his ankles secured in mag cuffs. As he watched, the sex organ between his legs was opened and a tube was slowly inserted. The technicians were in hospital scrubs and wearing gloves. He noticed that two seemed to be chatting almost amiably during the procedure.

At the end of each video after each “implantation,” the scene would switch to what appeared to be a meeting room, likely at the Triskelion, where a middle aged man still in scrubs would discuss the success or failure (all failures so far, James noted) of the “viable cells.”

It took a while for what he was witnessing to sink in.

They had tried to impregnate him. Repeatedly.

They had obviously planned to decomission him – and he recalled Pierce's words about needing him to do something _one more time_ – as a weapon and use him as a breeding subject instead.

He felt...

He had a hard time understanding his current mental state actually. He'd taken to analyzing the images that came to mind these days and their accompanying emotions with interest but now...

He didn't know how he felt about this. Shocked... but not surprised that he'd been decomissioned. Puzzled as to why they would “implant” before he carried out his last mission – he had memories or at least, ideas of pregnant women as delicate. Should he really have been in combat if they wanted a successful result? Then again, the asset was hardly delicate – he had a healing factor unlike most humans, probably only matched by Steve Rogers.

(He had been in combat with other enhanced humans before and he was finding that there were more now than he had initially surmised). He likely could have handled combat and been fine, carried a healthy child to term despite it.

Child.

_They were small, messy creatures. The courtyard was bright and hot, the table they sat at red and rubbery with many holes in it. The Secretary had left him here and a little boy ate french fries, waving them at the asset with a sticky hand as he chattered brightly. He was unafraid of the asset. He was so unafraid._

He watched the final video. It began just as the others did, a tech none too gently opening his genitals with forceps and inserting a tube. The ending showed the same meeting room with the doctor as usual, but this time his eyes held a triumphant light.

The asset – James, listened, stunned, as the man described a success.

“Indeed if the current state continues,” the doctor said. “We may expect a future generation of super soldiers!”

James stared at the screen for a few moments as Lewis went on to describe the particulars – how long before they could be certain this attempt would take, whether the asset would be combat capable, whether combat might affect the project...

Lewis seemed to take on a very optimistic view of the latter. Probably because there wasn't a chance that the Secretary would allow his plans to be interfered with.

Everything inside of James seemed to sink all at once. He felt... not tired. His body wasn't tired. His mind was weary.

It wasn't a term the asset would have used when asked for a post combat report on damages. He would not have even reported fatigue because the mission would be carried out regardless of whether or not the asset even noted fatigue as an important symptom.

Symptoms.

He tried to think of anything that might point to a pregnancy. He recalled things like nausea and unusual cravings. James looked at the pile of wrappers on the hotel room's desk, beside the laptop. The nearest one was for a pastry called a Boston crème. He had not been able to keep the Boston crème down for long despite the pleasure of eating it. Eating in general had been a problem as the asset was accustomed to being fed intravenously.

The hunger had always been with him if he really thought about it. It constantly hovered on the periphery of his memories, even the really old ones – the ones that linked him to Barnes.

_I'm so hungry._

_There was bread and some water. He ate the bread ravenously and drank the water and they laughed at him as he curled up in pain. He wasn't supposed to eat before the order to do so but he had not learned this lesson yet. Now he would learn it. Pain would lead to order._

That man was Barnes.

He sat up, surprised. A memory of Barnes from before, before the wipes. James had few of those. Most of the memories from his early conditioning involved pain but he was already the asset in those memories. Before that... there was more pain but a different kind of pain. He could recall a man in a room, screaming insults and threats before falling silent, despondent; screaming and fighting as he was strapped to a table, the crackle of lightning followed by pain followed by nothing. Before that, he recalled blood, a saw, his arm...

_Whispering his own name, his rank, his serial number. Whispering Steve's name and rank._

He stood and walked to the door of the apartment. There was a long mirror beside the door, adjacent to it, and he examined himself in it. Slowly, he peeled up his shirt.

He slid his flesh hand over his stomach, tensing slightly at the contact as he slid it down to his lower belly. This was where it would be... the... the pregnancy. The child.

Baby.

He swallowed and pulled his hand away. He didn't see anything different as he examined himself sideways. There was no protrusion that would indicate anything unusual.

But there had been a success, the 'doctor' had said. Which meant that unless he'd... lost? Miscarried. Unless he'd miscarried the child, he should still be pregnant.

He slid his hands into his hair, gripping it tightly to ground himself. None of this made any sense. He was a man and yet not. He was a person and yet not. He was pregnant and yet how could he be?

_Who was the father?_

It was an odd thought. He could hear it in a young girl's voice followed by

_Are you the daddy, Bucky?_

_No, Rosie, I'm not the daddy, he sighed. Steve snorted in the corner and Bucky glared at him. Jackass._

Rosie didn't know. Hadn't known. She believed her brother was a boy, a _brother_ and not a sister. But what about Barnes' parents? Had they allowed this to go on? Allowed their daughter to dress like a boy and get into fights?

He shook his head. Barnes was irrelevant to his situation now. Whether he had been transgender or intersex or manipulated by HYDRA, none of it mattered. He could be pregnant.

With a glance toward the computer, he exhaled deeply and returned to sit down.

 

An hour later, he was sitting on the bed with the laptop, comfortably situated with pillows behind himself against the headboard. He would never have concerned himself with comfort in the past, but it seemed from the information he gathered on the internet – wide and varied – concerning pregnancy that comfort was important. He wanted the baby to be healthy after all. Normal. Or as normal as was possible with a weapon carrying it.

A _decomissioned_ weapon. Stolen?

He wasn't a weapon anymore. He was a man now. A person. A pregnant person.

James had discovered articles and videos and blogs and more videos all about carrying and giving birth and parenting. This was what they called caring for a child – parenting and there was lots of advice regarding it. He read an article about breastfeeding and opened his shirt, frowning. He examined his chest, pressing on his nipples with his flesh hand. They were not tender or swollen the way the information described they should be, but this apparently occurred later in pregnancy.

His belly would be large by then.

He felt... distress? The thought of having a large belly distressed him because he wouldn't be capable of combat. Combat would be awkward or even dangerous with a pregnant belly.

One thing kept reoccuring to him throughout this all and that was that he wanted to have the baby. He wanted a child.

He thought of the little boy from the memory with the french fries. The Secretary had left him in the courtyard and told him to wait. The little boy appeared with his father and... sister? A little girl who also ate fries and talked animatedly about a small toy. A dinosaur.

The father did not recognize the asset. The asset's arm had been covered while the father was out and then he left. He left his children with a stranger which the asset considered incredibly foolish. But he had remained still the way the Secretary had ordered and watched with interest as the little boy chattered at him and waved fries with blood on them. Not blood. Ketchup.

The asset had been given a french fry by the little boy who urged him to eat it. He'd opened his mouth as the fries were pressed to his lips and taken a bite. They were salty and the ketchup was sweet, tangy.

He wasn't supposed to have fries.

He rubbed his belly in thought, remembering the taste of fries. He could go and get french fries. There were lots of places that sold french fries.

No. He needed to find a liquid solution to his dietary problem. He could not eat the french fries because he would not hold them down. He'd found out from the pregnancy information that mothers substituted breast milk with something called formula which might suffice to give him nutrients. There were ads for something else too called _Slimfast._ It was advertised as a meal substitute.

Maybe he could just _taste_ the fries after having some formula? This seemed like a reasonable plan. Licking his lips, he put the laptop aside and decided to go on a search for food. 


	2. Rations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Asset must find sustenance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Or "Bucky Goes to Sav-A-Lot" 
> 
> In which I have weird head canons about Bucky's family and religion. There isn't really any proof that Bucky is Jewish in the comics. I just like the idea of Bucky arguing in Yiddish with his Ma while Steve looks on like "??"

 

The grocery store was part of what the asset knew to be called a 'strip mall.' He felt a little more secure regarding it from the sidewalk, people passing around him. James didn't see anyone up on the roof. He was certain there were no snipers on the roofs of the shops, but he still glanced nervously up at them as he headed closer.

This was what was described as a “low income” area. Like so much of the information in his mind, he didn't know how he knew this, he just did. At least he didn't seem to stand out much in his jacket and baseball cap with his facial scruff.

He rubbed the shadow on his face thoughtfully as he eyed the doors of the grocery store. A quick analysis of the people passing by and the ones he could see inside through the wide windows yielded no appearance of potential threat. There was one man – a customer – in front of one of the registers who looked like he might be a former marine or Navy SEAL but he could easily be taken down if he proved to be a threat. Few were a match for the asset.

* * *

 

James headed inside, eyes blinking rapidly as he adjusted to the dimmer lighting of the store.

“Hey!” he nearly jumped as a young woman accosted him. “How are you doin' today?”

“Um. Good,” he mumbled, since this was a polite response. She raised an eyebrow at him and he continued into the store, making sure not to bump into anyone.

He knew that there would be all kinds of food in here. He had come to a grocery store once with a handler, Rumlow, and another man on the STRIKE team, Rollins. He remembered Rumlow ordering the asset to grab a cart, so he stopped and wondered if he should get one. A cart would be useful if he wanted to purchase many items. Rumlow and Rollins had tossed a lot of items into the cart – things the asset wasn't allowed to eat. Later, in the parking lot, the asset had been made to push the cart, with Rumlow riding on the end of it.

Something hysterical bubbled up out of his chest at the memory of Rumlow going _“Whee! Push faster, motherfucker!”_ He found himself shaking and covering his lips with his right hand to stop the sounds emerging.

People were stopping to glance at him and he smiled – he smiled – at an older woman who glanced at him. She winked at him and he straightened, his smile fading. He stared at her for a moment and she raised her eyebrows and turned away. She had winked at him. He wondered if she knew who he was; if she was a Hydra defector, and maybe she was on his side?

He frowned. That made no sense. He continued walking. There were no Hydra defectors – all who tried to defect died.

“ _There are no prisoners with Hydra!” Desperate sobbing and pleas. A gunshot._

That wasn't really true, some corner of him pointed out. There _were_ prisoners with Hydra. Barnes had been one.

_'No. Do not question. Do not -'_

Why not? He was free now, wasn't he? He could question all he pleased.

His heart raced, his mind racing along with it. Colors surrounded him, noises, scents, faces passing by.

He found himself standing in an aisle between two shelves that held mostly bottles. The bottles had bright colors on them. Logos, they were called. This was to advertise the product inside. 

He picked one up and investigated it.

“NOW with 75% less sugar and a 100% more flavor!”

This was idiotic. Flavor could not be computed.

The bottle contained apple juice. He remembered apple juice being nutritious so he decided to keep it. He carried it under his disguised metal arm as he continued.

There were many kinds of apple juice. For a while, he read the bottles, frowning. Then he shrugged and continued. They were all covered in propaganda, and there was really no way to tell, as far as he knew, which was really the 'best' product. He didn't understand much about sugar or fats or carbohydrates. He made a mental note to do some research when he returned to his hotel room.

He ended up getting not a cart, but a basket, when he saw another man grabbing one. The man was large and muscular and he had two little girls following him around. He frowned down at one.

“Katie, stop jumping on me.”

Katie looked to be about seven years old – the asset wasn't sure, as he didn't have much experience with children – and she was hopping up and down, clamoring for her father's attention by grabbing at the arm that held the basket. She had a small toy in one hand – a stuffed elephant.

“Daddy, I need this!”

“No, you don't. Morgan, what is it?” He turned to look at the other girl who the asset guessed to be about nine. She had noticed the asset watching them and was staring back at him. He noticed she held a bottle of some drink in her hand.

“Oh. Uh, can I have this? Please?”

He sighed and rolled his eyes. “Fine, put them in the basket! But that is all you two are getting today!” The asset felt an odd note of sympathy. Children could be exasperating. He knew this somehow.

“Yay!” Katie cheered.

He had a memory of two little girls and holding a basket himself, but perhaps his mind was merely making things up.

 _'Becca, no, we don't have money for that!'_ He hissed in the memory. ' _Put it back!'_

He didn't even remember what it was, but he was stunned by the clarity of the mental image he recalled; Becca, a girl with big blue eyes, freckles, and pigtail braids, pouting at him. She was... twelve then?

 _She wanted some kind of fancy soap_.

She was the girl in the pictures he'd seen. His sister, Rebecca.

The asset was staring at the floor of the Save-A-Lot. When he glanced up, the man was eyeing him oddly as if he didn't like the look of the asset and ushered his girls onward.

“Weirdo,” he heard the man mutter.

The asset blinked, frowning, and looked back into his basket.

“Daddy is he crazy?” Katie whispered loudly, as children, the asset recalled, do not know how to whisper. The girls in the Red Room did, but that was because they were properly trained to. He would have heard Katie's whisper regardless as he had super sensitive hearing.

“Katie, shush!”

The asset did not look in their direction again. The father did not like him looking for some reason. The asset remembered something about perverts looking at children. The father was exhibiting reasonable protective behavior in the light of a possible threat.

Pleased at the memory, though not the fact that he apparently looked crazy – was his mental instability really that recognizable to other people? - he decided to record these memories somehow. 

It was safest to record them on paper. Paper could be burned and the remnants of it scattered as ashes.

He remembered an aisle with paper and office supplies. After searching a bit, he found spiral bound notebooks. He selected one with a lot of pages and tossed it into the basket. He would need something to write with too, so he also selected some pens; he found a bag full for not a lot of money. A package of brightly colored 'gel pens' momentarily distracted him. He was puzzled by their lack of real purpose. They were writing utensils but their colors were unnecessary. Decorative.

The asset- _James_ , he needed to start thinking of himself as _James_ \- investigated the rest of the grocery store. There were packaged meats, but he didn't purchase any of these as he had no way to cook them properly and he probably wouldn't be able to digest them anyway. But he did buy a bag of beef jerky as he remembered Rollins purchasing something similar and letting him have a bite. It had been very tasty and made him salivate. The asset salivated just thinking of it. He knew this response had a term for it. Pavlovian? It had something to do with dogs.

It was a want. Wanting. Wanting things was good because _people_ wanted things.

He then went and grabbed a package of gel pens also.

He needed to record these memories and soon.

He found the vegetables and fruit and he knew they were nutritious, but he wouldn't be able to digest them properly. He spotted some bottles that promised the benefits of fruit and vegetables – other kinds of juice. He considered the apple juice in his basket. It had more sugar in it, which was fine, but he could use other kinds of juice too, if he needed vegetables.

He perused more and discovered a vast section of nothing but chocolate and cookies and other things the asset had never been allowed to eat. He purchased a chocolate bar and a package of something called Oreos. He'd had an oreo before. Somehow he recalled that cookies went well with milk, so he also bought a small bottle of it.

He saw the section labeled “Personal Care” so he headed there next. Here there were razors and the asset- James! - ran a hand over his face thoughtfully. He should shave his face. This was normal man behavior. He wanted to be normal and fit in. It would improve his disguise. He would also feel better after shaving. He wasn't sure how he knew he would feel better, he just knew that he would.

 _Nice and fresh_. The smell of something he patted on his cheeks. A younger man looking into a mirror and smiling. It was the asset, no... It was Bucky Barnes. Bucky Barnes smiling and slicking his hair back.

“Stevie, come on, get ready! You're getting _fucked_ tonight, pal!”

He wasn't sure what being nice and fresh had to do with getting fucked or how someone got ready for being fucked. Rumlow had mentioned fucking before, while talking to Rollins. They had ignored the asset sitting in the STRIKE van with them while Rumlow animatedly told a story about a “girl” he'd “fucked.” Her tits had apparently been amazing. James wasn't sure what was so special about tits, but apparently they were important to normal men.

He should cultivate an understanding of tits and fucking. He knew that there was plenty of information about these subjects on the internet.

Appearance and fucking were very important to normal people. James could remember Bucky Barnes putting a lot of effort into those two things. He also tried to get Steve fucked.

This was confusing because Bucky Barnes also thought about fucking Steve or Steve fucking him. So why did he go to the trouble of getting women to fuck Steve if he already had a vagina and wanted to fuck Steve himself?

James decided he had stood long enough in the personal care aisle with the razors. He moved along. There was shaving cream, which he remembered was also important, though he remembered Bucky Barnes using soap. Men in the present like Rumlow used shaving cream. They also used body wash and body spray. He knew the scents were important too, but he wasn't sure how to select scents.

He decided to sniff some of the bottles. One was overpowering and caused him to recoil, his nostrils overwhelmed. One was nice and fresh. So he picked the nice and fresh one. For some reason, it had little pictures of wolves on it. He looked at them in bemusement, then tossed them into his heavy basket.

He should have gotten a cart.

For some reason, this thought made him smile again. His flesh hand rose to cover his smile; there were slaps if he smiled or possibly even a wipe.

But he was a normal man now, so he was supposed to smile. He was supposed to laugh too.

Then again, normal men did not carry babies. This troubled him for a moment and he stopped, wondering if he should put the body wash and the shaving cream back. Should he get the pink razors that the women used?

The asset shook his head. James. He didn't have time for this. He had come for supplies. Food. He was getting distracted.

He picked the body wash out of the basket and looked at it thoughtfully. His current disguise was a normal man. He looked very masculine and everyone identified him as a man. He would stay with that for now. He returned the body wash to the basket. It would be good to use it in the shower. He would feel better and smell better too. The odor of his unwashed body was pungent. Other people would be able to smell it and they would avoid him. He thought of the little girl who thought he might be crazy. It was dangerous to stand out.

He browsed the rest of the personal care section and discovered something interesting. There were more bottles of drinks here! They were called 'meal replacement' drinks and the asset felt a rush of triumph. His lips curved at the corners as he picked up one of the bottles. It was called “Ensure” and he read the words on it with interest. This simplified a lot of things.

He looked at the juice bottles already in his basket and decided he would try everything to see what worked best. He knew that advertising lied sometimes, to sell products. Propaganda.

His teeth clenched at the thought of lies and he wanted to throw the basket. He gripped it tightly instead, in his right hand, and the plastic let out a crackle of protest. He stopped, feeling slightly panicked as he looked over the handles. They were not broken, merely dented.

He noticed his rapid breathing and looked around. There was no one else in the aisle with him, thankfully. He forced his breathing to slow down – losing control was not an option.

It was time to cut his shopping trip short. He'd spent long enough browsing and now he had a basket full of things. It wasn't much of a burden for his metal arm to carry, but he was feeling drained. Tired. Hungry.

He would go to the apartment. Drink some of the liquid drinks, taste some of the food, and record memories. The soap that the girl – his sister, Becca wanted. Shaving and telling Stevie to get ready for fucking. Rumlow and tits.

He headed to the cash registers, knowing he had to pay for the items. He smiled as he pictured Rumlow going “Whee!” again. He didn't cover his mouth this time.

“Hi there,” the older woman said, glancing up. It was the one who winked at him earlier. For some reason, his face heated. He analyzed the response, frowning down at the little treadmill his items traveled along as he put them down.

“Hi,” he told the woman, realizing he was being rude. She smiled at him and scanned his items.

“How are you doing today?”

“I'm fine,” he said. “I'm having a baby.” James froze. Why had he just blurted that?

To his surprise, the woman smiled broadly.

“Oh! Well, I'm so excited for you, sweetheart.”

He smiled. He'd never seen a face like that for 'happiness.' at first it looked fake and dramatic but his chest warmed at the term 'sweetheart.' He saw after her face relaxed that she did seem genuinely excited at the subject of children.

“Thank you,” he told her. As she scanned the items, he stepped down to look at the screen where the price of each item was shown.

“How far along is she?”

“She?”

“The baby's mother.”

He blinked, realizing that of course she would assume a woman was carrying his child. Most people accepted that women had babies and were thus mothers. That was the general way of things.

Was he a mother or a father? He shook his head, bemused. Then he realized the older woman was still staring at him.

“She's um... two months?”

“Wow! Time just flies by, doesn't it? I remember when my little girls – oh, well they're grown now,” she smiled. “But they were so precious. Now they've got babies of their own and how fast they grow!” She chuckled and shook her head. “You can swipe your card, honey.” She began to put the items in plastic bags.

“I have money,” he handed her the paper – two twenty dollar bills.

“Oh, of course. I should have asked, sorry.” She took it, smiling and turning to the register. “Just most people nowadays use their cards.”

“They do?” Shit. The asset – Bucky had not thought of this. He should find ways to be less conspicuous.

“Well, I like to use cash myself,” she prattled. “Just old fashioned, I guess!” She chuckled as she handed him his change and a receipt. “There you go!” After helping him grab his bags, she called. “You have a nice day!”

“You too!” he responded as he headed to the door.

He also found he genuinely wished her a pleasant day. She had, after all, given him useful information with the currency.

Grandchildren! He hadn't even thought of that. A smile spread over his lips as he left the store. His child would grow and eventually have children of its own; this was the way of life.

He felt... strange. His smile faded as he analyzed the sensations his body was undergoing. He was trembling a little.

Jitters, he thought. He was very happy. This made him smile again.

He made sure to carefully cross the street as he headed back to the hotel. He had a lot to write down! He'd even been happy today and that was an accomplishment.

* * *

 

He did not stomach the apple juice well.

He made sure to drink things one at a time so that way he would be able to tell which were digestible. The apple juice was good, but it made his stomach hurt after a while and he vomited. It occurred to him that he'd forgotten about fries, but he figured it was just as well.

He drank some water next, letting his stomach settle as he scribbled in the notebook in Russian. For some reason his brain had a hard time writing about Becca and Bucky Barnes in Russian. It wanted to switch to English or Yiddish.

He had forgotten that Barnes was Jewish. His Ma spoke Yiddish. His father was not Jewish. His father was Catholic. But they respected both religions in his house. He went to mass with Stevie.

He was remembering more as he wrote and he fumbled excitedly, trying to get it all out.

Stevie's hair was combed back smoothly and his angular little face looked nice over the new coat and vest Bucky had bought for him. They were secondhand, actually, but he had gone all over town trying to find some clothes that might fit Stevie. He was pretty sure they were meant for a younger kid, but he'd been so excited when he found some the right size for his friend. Stevie looked great and Bucky felt a rush of pride as he eyed his friend next to him in the pew. The vest was dark wool and matched the coat. Stevie had a nice dark shirt on underneath and the one tie he owned.

“What?” Steve mouthed as he noticed Bucky staring at him. His lips curled slightly into a smile and Bucky grinned.

“You look great,” he mouthed back. They just smiled at eachother for a moment and the asset, James's chest felt warm at the memory. He smiled a little and recorded everything he could recall about it – the vast cathedral space, the candles lit up front, the cold air, the smell of... of wood and paper. Incense. Of his aftershave. Of Stevie, clean and fresh, smelling of soap. This was how Stevie was supposed to look and smell, like somebody who could have a real job in an office somewhere.

There was the thought of what Stevie's hand would feel like in his, sort of delicate and soft against Bucky's callouses. What Stevie would feel like pressed to him while wearing that vest and jacket. The thought of kissing him before the candles.

And then the James in the image shrunk back from the thought, as if ashamed.

Bucky frowned as he looked at the sentence he'd written; “I was ashamed.” Why was he ashamed?

He knew that people sometimes didn't accept two men. Agent Rumlow and Agent Rollins often called things 'gay' if they thought those things were stupid. He didn't know why though. He could remember that once he believed 'queers' were dangerous, maybe when he was James Buchanan Barnes but he could not remember why queers were dangerous. He remembered a fear involved with the subject of queers.

Maybe because James Buchanan Barnes was a queer?

This was doubly confusing. James Buchanan Barnes had a female body, but called himself a he, and believed he was a queer. Because... because he loved Stevie?

But if he had a woman's body then...

There was something about white trucks and an asylum but Bucky could make no sense of the images in his mind. He wrote about the white trucks and the fear and the asylum, thinking that maybe it would make sense later on.

He went to Youtube, which was an excellent source of information. It had many, many videos involving all kinds of subjects. Bucky could watch a video about RPGs being fired in foreign countries. They gave him a fierce desire for weapons and combat, but he reminded himself that he had to lie low. He did miss missions sometimes.

He could watch videos in Russian, in Farsi, in English, in Spanish, in languages he hadn't even realized he could speak or understand.

He could even watch videos about cats doing mundane things.

There were videos about babies too, and he enjoyed watching these the most. He would put a hand over his belly and smile as he watched a baby laugh or make strange faces. There were videos about breastfeeding, which made him frown and inspect his own chest, wondering if he would still be able to feed the baby.

But he wasn't searching for baby videos at the moment. He was searching for videos of Captain America.

Steve Rogers would know about the transgender thing. He would know if James Buchanan Barnes was a transgender person. There had to be something showing his thoughts on the subject – the media would surely have pestered him for his opinion by now, because he was famous and famous people were always listened to even when they weren't particularly smart or well informed.

He sat up as he saw a video titled “Captain America comes out at DC Pride event.” The video was dated to almost a year before the helicarriers were launched.

It was the captain standing before a crowd. He was not wearing the suit he fought in but a regular dress suit. It fit him well.

“Thank you so much for letting me speak today,” the captain was saying as the video began. It was slightly jerky and the asset could tell it had been filmed by someone in the crowd. Cheers crackled through the speakers and Bucky turned the sound down a little, wincing. Some of the audience was screaming wildly and there was laughter. The captain was smiling.

“I know a lot of you probably think I'm older than dinosaurs,” the audience began to laugh “And that I was born before gay people were invented.” More laughter followed as well as cheers.

“We love you, Steve!” someone screamed behind the camera.

“But even back in the forties, there was a community of LGBT people. We just didn't call them that. Unfortunately they were called derogatory names. I'm here to tell you today that... I know what it's like to be called those names.”

Everyone was quiet. “Oh my god,” someone else said in the background. “Is he...”

The captain seemed to shift nervously, looking down at the podium in front of him before looking back at the audience.

“I debated wearing the suit today,” he smiled but it was a sad smile. “I know that a lot of people... wanted me to. And it wasn't that I was in any way ashamed to represent my country.”

A few cheers and whistles broke out.

“To the contrary, I think the LGBT community is a very important part of our nation.”

The cheers returned with a vengeance this time. There were wolf whistles too. When the noise died down again, the captain continued. He was smiling but this time it was happier.

“I'm proud to consider myself one of it's members.”

“Oh my god!” It sounded like the same voice from earlier. There was a general ruckus in the crowd but it died down quickly, the audience apparently curious to see what the man had to say next.

Bucky was leaning forward himself, staring at the laptop's screen with raised eyebrows.

“You see,” the captain licked his lips. “I recently came to accept that I'm bisexual.”

There was an explosion of noise. Whistles, cheers, and apparently some actual noise makers like the ones people used at parties.

“YEAH!” someone shouted.

“Oh my god! Oh. My god,” the Oh my god person repeated.

The captain was flushed bright red, but smiling from ear to ear.

“Thank you. You have no idea how special it is for me to see this time period,” There were more cheers this time as well as shouts.

“We love you Cap!”

The man actually looked slightly emotional.

“I didn't wear the suit today for a simple reason. We're not just here in the United States of America. LGBT people exist everywhere.”

The cheering was really starting to grate the asset's nerves. He wanted to hear what the captain had to say.

“I grew up in a time,” he cleared his throat when the silence had fallen again. “Where people were arrested and beaten in the streets for being gay or lesbian, or for being transgender. It gives me so much joy to see the direction this country has moved in and I am so, so proud of you all here today.”

“Aww!” A chorus of people were saying near the camera.

“We're proud of you too!” Someone shouted.

“I LOVE YOU STEVE!”

“You are so brave,” he said. “So brave, no matter what anyone tells you, to stand here and show the world who you really are. And the world is watching. I'm so proud to be a part of this country and a part of this community. Everything that I fought for... everything that we fought for, I can see it right here, right now.”

“Fuck,” Bucky said, and he didn't know why. It just felt right.

There were more cheers this time as well as applause. The captain smiled.

“Unfortunately... people are still murdered in broad daylight for being who they are. I was sad to read about young people like Mathew Shephard right here in the US. And that is sad, for all the changes that we've been through. It's especially troubling to realize that for all the change that's happened around the world, some countries are legalizing persecution and murder.”

The crowd was silent though a few people here and there cheered or called things out.

“It's strange that I didn't know about what the Nazis did to gays and lesbians until this century. It wasn't really something people reported on back then, though. We all agreed it was wrong to persecute Jews. But for some reason people turned a blind eye to the persecution of other groups.” His smile was still sad. “I'm so glad to be able to see a time when people celebrate difference instead of fearing it.”

The camera jerked around as more cheers filled the air.

“I just wish that... other people could have seen this too.” The captain's head lowered for a moment, then he lifted his chin again. There were more cheers of encouragement.

“They called us the greatest generation. But honestly, I think you guys have done a pretty swell job too.”

There was some laughter but mostly more cheers.

“I mean it. I'm proud of you. Because you recognize the things that matter most; that freedom to be yourself isn't a commodity for those with privilege, it's a _right_ for _all_ of us.”

The asset tilted his head at the words. There was something oddly familiar about them.

“Oh my god,” the person said again. “I can't even...”

Bucky scanned the comments as the video ended.

 

'I haven't stopped replaying this video for like the past ten minutes.This is my favorite new thing.'

'I KNEW IT!'

'Steve Rogers won the internet. Everybody go home.'

'Freedom to be yourself isn't a commodity for those with privilege - it's a right for all of us. Wow.'

'I wonder if he and Bucky Barnes were together? That would be AMAZING.'

'A PRETTY SWELL JOB'

 

Not all of the comments were in support of the captain. Bucky found a few detractors.

'Who cares if Rogers is gay? Why does everybody have to tell the whole world about their private life?'

'This is disgusting. Rogers should be ashamed. He lied to the US military. It was ILLEGAL for him to be a homosexual in those days and he modeled himself as a family man! Children look up to him! God have mercy on this country.'

'Wow. I grew up reading Captain America comic books and there's a tv show for kids and this man is a pervert. What a disappointment.'

'Lol what's so great about Captain America sucking dick?'

'I'm getting second hand embarrassment just from watching this.'

 

The comment about whether or not Bucky Barnes and the captain had been together made the asset, Bucky, sigh and lean back against the headboard. It was odd that a stranger on the internet could be echoing a question that was beginning to plague him.

His stomach rumbled so he grabbed one of the bottles of _Ensure_ , then continued browsing the internet. There had to be answers somewhere.

 

 


	3. Tetya

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Asset finds a supportive friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Добрый день - "Dobryy Den" - Apparently "Good afternoon" in Russian. Thus saith Google translate. I am not a Russian speaker so if I've made a mistake, feel free to correct me! 
> 
> I'm going by the general idea that Bucky trained Natasha in the past since he was captured by the Russians in the MCU. (They share some past history in the comics)

Natalia is following him.

He remembers her. He remembers that she called him Dmitri and that he trained her. It confuses him when he thinks about working for the Red Room but Hydra did leave his early training to the Russians. He remembers early days training with the Soviets and verifies this against the computer files Hydra had on him. The Soviets helped condition the asset after Zola gave him his arm. They were experts at conditioning. He recalls a cage outside in the snow and being very cold, beatings, and for some strange reason a black cat. He thinks he fed the cat sometimes with the food they gave him in a bowl.

His Trainer finally allowed him to sleep indoors when he felt the Asset had been satisfactorily conditioned. After he did well on a mission, the Trainer rewarded him with vodka. He remembers a room full of soldiers, all of them cheering, the Trainer tossing a friendly arm around his shoulders. The soldiers all raised glasses of vodka as they cheered and the Trainer held one of the little glasses up to his face. The asset drank... and coughed, but managed to keep the vodka down. They all laughed and cheered some more. It burned in his throat and chest but it was a pleasant burn and he felt good because they were all pleased with him. They called him “the American.”

Then his Trainer let him sleep in his cot that night. Sometimes the Trainer fucked him at night before they slept. It usually stung at first, but sometimes the asset felt good, better than he could ever remember feeling. Looking back, he thinks the trainer should not have done this – it was against regulations. But sometimes it gave him pleasure, which was nice.

His breathing has quickened. It's an odd response to a memory but a response he's familiar with. Sometimes he felt this excitement with Pierce. He shudders at the thought of Pierce and the old, old memories of conditioning, though.

Free now. He doesn't have to think about those things.

James knows Natalia is watching him. He feels her eyes on him at the hotel he sleeps in. The floors of forests have grown uncomfortable and he isn't supposed to sleep on the ground, to be exposed in the elements as he is carrying the baby. He thinks of it as the baby now even though he knows he shouldn't get his hopes up. It's still early and his body could expel the fetus because his body is -

_tainted, putrid, poisoned_ -

unreliable without proper maintenance.

At first he wonders if he should try to kill Natalia. He would have to do it without combat because she is a formidable opponent and he does not want to damage the baby. _His_ baby. He would have to use a long range rifle which would involve tracking her without her noticing and that would also be challenging. Then again, he hasn't had such a challenge in a while and he does miss it.

He remembers that once he felt very strongly for Natalia – maybe he even loved her – and she is Steve Rogers's friend so he shouldn't kill her. Also, it seems she's not interested in harming him because if she wanted to kill him she would have already attempted to. Somehow he senses that she's been watching him for some time. He wonders if she's been watching him since the helicarriers fell into the river. It's possible, he thinks. If anyone could track the Winter Soldier, it would be Natalia.

He feels a twinge of pride at that thought.

* * *

 

She knocks on the door of his hotel room one day. He peeks through the hole in the door, one hand rubbing his lower belly. She could shoot through the door but she isn't holding a weapon and she's dressed as a civilian. Civilian clothes mean nothing really – the asset killed targets... _people_ dressed as civilians – but her shirt is too flimsy for there to be armor underneath.

He opens the door, glaring at her under the chain.

“Добрый день,” she says, a small, friendly smile on her face. Her eyes are soft.

He closes the door and unhooks the chain, then opens it again, stepping back to let her enter. He doesn't trust her smile but she's not armed so he'll hear what she has to say. He mumbles a response in English.

“Afternoon.”

She looks at him in surprise, an eyebrow lifting. Her eyes... he always liked her eyes. They're cunning, sharp. They remind him of the black cat he sometimes fed at the base with the Trainer.

“Well look at you,” she murmurs, moving to sit on the end of the bed, crossing one leg over the other and pressing her hands flat against it. He slowly shuts the door after poking his head out to scan the horizon. There doesn't seem to be anyone else watching them.

“I came alone,” she tells him. “I figured you aren't up to receiving guests.”

He frowns at her from the door, then carefully moves past her to sit in a chair facing the bed. She looks relaxed, at ease, but he knows that's a farce. Her eyes scan the room and she doesn't turn her back on him. He watches her for a few moments. She smiles at him, the same smile she gave him at the door – just a curve of her lips.

“James.” He tells her.

“Hm?”

“You can call me James.” He thinks this is polite, like a greeting.

Something seems to light up in her eyes and her smile seems more genuine.

“Natasha.”

Natalia. He doesn't correct her.

“I know you.”

“You do.” She nods.

“I shot you.”

A pause. “You did.”

She doesn't seem angry about it.

“I'm sorry,” he says quietly, glancing down and blinking.

“It's in the past,” she shrugs as if he merely said something insulting. “You had orders. Steve said I still look great in bikinis, so it's all good.”

She understands orders. He relaxes a little. It's nice to speak with someone who understands orders.

“Why are you here?” His tone is not hostile, but curious.

“I thought you might like to know some things. You remember Steve?”

He stiffens.

“Yes.”

He doesn't remember everything. To his relief, she doesn't ask what he remembers.

“He's not in the US. He and Wilson are in Ukraine, searching for a Hydra base.”

James's brows furrow. Ukraine. He had a mission there. Odessa. In the... nineties? Does he remember that from the file, though, or from the images in his head of city streets in winter? He has seen many city streets over many winters...

“Why?” he knows but he wants to hear her say it.

“Looking for you,” she raises an eyebrow as if to say 'of course.' “And intel.”

“What kind of intel?” He does not want to see Steve... yet. But perhaps he could share what he's found. His hand absentmindedly rubs his stomach. His belly is not pronounced yet, but it will be soon.

“How to deprogram you.”

This sends his mind spinning as his brows furrow. How to... How to deprogram him. But... But without his programming he won't function!

She sees his alarm and continues speaking.

“They don't want to control you. They want to help you so you can control yourself.”

His brows furrow again and he nods once. But he needs the trigger phrases for that and it's unlikely they'll ever find them all. There have been so many over the years and he doesn't remember most of them.

He chews his lip in thought, looking down at the floor. The question of whether to pursue Hydra troubles him again. He doesn't want to risk the baby, but Hydra is still out there and as long as they exist, he will be hunted.

He considers telling Natalia about his baby, but he dismisses the idea. She doesn't need to know. Yet.

There is a dark possibility he finds himself considering – that Natalia is working for Hydra. That she merely pretended to be loyal to SHIELD. He knows that information about her is all over the internet and if there had been information about her serving Hydra she probably would have been arrested, but what if she disposed of such information herself?

No, he'll wait and see. If she proves trustworthy, he'll tell her and request her assistance. He's good at disappearing, as he is призрак – a ghost. But he has spent years in cryo and his memory of safe places is faulty so she might be able to help him find a safe place to give birth.

He still doesn't know what he's going to do about a doctor or a midwife. Natalia might know something about that too.

She's tilting her head, watching him.

“Do you want me to tell you where you can find them?”

He is surprised. He thought she would ask if he wanted her to tell Steve where he was and for a moment he has the uncomfortable thought that she already has. His brows furrow. Surely there is a price for this information?

“In exchange for...”

She smiles slightly. “In exchange for nothing. Steve saved my life so I owe him a favor.”

“He saved your life.”

She tells him about how they – herself and Steve - found a computer version of Zola which James finds intriguing but not surprising. He thinks he remembers talking to a computer, but he isn't sure. Zola _would_ try to keep himself alive in some way and he was always very smart. Zola made the asset, after all, and there is no weapon like him. Was. He's not a weapon anymore. He's going to be a person from now on and raise his baby.

Natalia finishes her story, explaining that the computer Zola summoned a missile to his location and destroyed himself in the hope of destroying her and Steve as well. Bucky is surprised to find his lips stretching into a grim smile and shakes his head.

“I told Steve that might not have been everything left of him,” Natalia points out, her gaze scanning his face.

He eyes her quietly, feeling his defensiveness rise.

“I didn't tell him about you,” she says. For a moment, she fidgets in her seat, reminding him of a young girl. “I won't tell Steve unless you want me to.”

He eyes her for a moment, then nods. His lips tug up at the corners. He recalls how he felt at the grocery store a few days prior; the excitement and jitters, and he smiles again.

She looks... surprised. Intrigued.

“I'm going to have a baby,” he says finally. She stares at him, puzzled. Then she laughs softly.

“What?”

He blinks and opens his mouth to say something, then falls quiet. Why did he just tell her that?

It was like he blurted it without thinking.

Does she even know about his hidden female parts? She must. They were lovers once, weren't they?

Her eyes widen as she stares at him.

“What?” she asks again, this time all humor removed from her tone.

“I'm pregnant,” he puts a hand to his belly.

She sags after staring at him for a while. Her lips work but no sound emerges for a moment.

“Whose child is it?” she glances down to his stomach, then up to him.

“Hydra's,” he shrugs.

She scoffs, but it's mirthless. Then she stares some more.

“How do you know you're pregnant?”

“I have... videos. Evidence. Files on the computer.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Videos?”

He gets up and walks around the bed to the side where the laptop is resting. After opening it, he searches through the files and opens the last video he watched with the procedure and Dr Lewis talking.

Then he turns the laptop to face Natasha.

She looks up at him, then down at the screen.

His face begins to heat as it sinks in what she's watching and he sees that her face is responding the same way.

Her lips part as she watches. When the video ends and the doctor has finished speaking, she blinks rapidly and Bucky turns the laptop screen back to face him. He closes it a moment later.

“Have you taken a pregnancy test?” she raises an eyebrow.

He stares at her.

“How...”

“Oh for fuck's sake,” she closes her eyes, then sits up, rolling them. “I'm going to the store and I'll be back in a few minutes.”

He stares at her, puzzled, then shrugs.

 

She returns about fifteen minutes later with a plastic bag. He's sitting on the bed, leaning back against the headboard. Natalia sits down on the side of the bed, tossing the bag to him. He catches it before it lands on his lap.

Inside the bag is a small, thin box. He takes it out and reads the words on the side: _Clearblue Advanced Digital Pregnancy Test_. With a frown, he opens the box and pulls out the plastic device along with a folded up bit of paper that has instructions on it. He reads the instructions, glancing at Natalia, who is struggling not to smile.

“What?”

“I'm sorry, but... the Winter Soldier taking a pregnancy test.” Her eyes are shining as she smiles at him. “Go on. Go in the bathroom and try it out.”

He frowns, but slips from the bed, taking the device and instructions into the bathroom with him. He follows the instructions to the letter, urinating on the strip, then covering it and setting it aside on the counter. He washes his hands and examines his face in the mirror.

Bucky shaved with his razors and he's been showering and washing his hair. He even took one of his knives and trimmed it. He looks more presentable now.

Fresh clothing might help, though.

He steps out into the bedroom and finds Natalia still waiting quietly, peeking out the window.

“Is there someone outside?”

She turns to look at him and her lips quirk. “No. Just making sure.”

He nods though he starts to feel suspicious that maybe she has someone waiting outside for her, one of the Avengers, maybe. Bucky thinks he will not mind if this is so, as long as they don't try to capture him.

“So, how did the test go?” she sits down in one of the small armchairs. He shakes his head.

“It needs a few minutes to process.”

She smiles again, seeming amused.

“What?”

“I just never thought you would be the parenting type, I guess.”

He snorts. “I trained you.”

Her eyes widen slightly for a moment, then she smiles.

“So you did.”

Bucky feels his face heat as he recalls fuzzy details of nights spent together, warding off the cold and fear, trying to be quiet as their bodies moved together. He recalls heat and pleasure that made him shake at his very foundations, like dynamite in a mountain.

He looks away after a moment, but he can feel her eyes on him.

“What other intel have you found on that computer?”

“Nothing useful,” he takes the laptop and hands it to her. Her eyes widen in momentary surprise, but then she opens it, setting it on the small table and taking a seat in one of the chairs to search through it.

“There are schematics on your arm... which will be very useful,” she glances up at him. “If you'd ever be willing to allow Stark to help you.”

“Stark...” he frowns at the name. He had a target... Howard Stark.

His lips part and he breathes in sharply as it sinks in. He killed Howard and Maria Stark. It was a fact that he already held in mind but he'd never really thought about the fact that Tony Stark was their son and one of Steve's friends.

Feeling dizzy, he moves to sit on the end of the bed. He can feel her green eyes following him closely.

“Are you all right?”

He nods. “Dizzy.”

“You can rest if you need to,” she tells him. He snorts.

“I have a guest.”

Natalia smiles as she glances up at him, then looks back at the laptop again, rapidly searching the files.

“Do you mind if I make copies...?”

“Go ahead.”

A jump drive materializes from somewhere within her jacket. He shakes his head in amusement – Natalia was always good at hiding things in the slim clothing she wore.

She plugs it into the computer after a pause, staring at the drive in her hand for a few moments. Then she clicks through the files and the little light on the drive flashes.

“Thank you,” she says. “This might help us... I won't show any of the files concerning you to anyone. Unless you'd like me to?” she raises an eyebrow.

He considers. Then he shrugs.

“Not Steve,” he adds, meeting her gaze. She nods, closing her eyes for a moment.

Steve would be very upset if he saw that Bucky... that the asset was pregnant. He doesn't know why or how he knows this, but he does.

“What can I do for you?” she asks.

He looks at her with a frown.

“Do for me?”

“Do you need... help? Medical attention?” She tilts her head and watches him when he doesn't answer right away.

“I am... fine.” At least he didn't say 'operational.'

She nods finally. Then her eyes widen and she sits up. "The pregnancy test!"

He nods in agreement, surprised he'd forgotten it himself, and stands up. His legs feel a little shaky as he goes to get it. Natalia waits patiently for him to return with it.

He grabs the paper instructions along with the test, remembering that he'll need to check them. With trembling hands, he holds the test up as he walks up to her. She's staring at him, waiting. It feels like neither of them is breathing for a few moments. He looks up at her and nearly chokes as he lets out a soft laugh.

"What is it?" she licks her lips, glancing toward the test, then back up at him again. He already knew but it was like he needed the confirmation. As he looks at the paper instructions and checks again, he smiles weakly and feels ashamed at the moisture in his eyes.

"Positive," he says in Russian as he looks up at her again. She looks at him for a few moments and her lips begin to curve up at the corners.

They stand there, making eye contact for a few moments, before she looks away. Bucky sniffs and turns to head back to the bathroom and grab some toilet paper.

It's strange. He's only been around her for slightly over an hour and he feels enough trust to turn his back on her. He puts the pregnancy test in the plastic bag it came in and tucks that inside his jacket. Even if it's gross, he doesn't want to leave it out. He'll find a way to dispose it later. He wipes his nose then return to her, sitting in the armchair again.

For a few moments, they're quiet, then he spots her eyeing his stash of food. Her eyes light up slightly with amusement.

“Oreos?”

He eyes her expression. Then he nods.

“They taste good,” He thinks she might be laughing at him. She flashes a bright smile at him and he feels more of the tension in his shoulders dissipate.

“You like cookies?”

“I can't...” he doesn't know if he should tell her this. “Some things are hard to digest. But they taste good.”

Her eyes are soft again. His face heats once more and he thinks he might be embarrassed though he isn't sure why. He looks away.

“You want to keep it?” she asks. “The baby?”

He fidgets, his flesh fingers tugging at the cuff of a sleeve. He meets her gaze again, then nods.

Her lips twist slightly, a smile. But her eyes don't seem happy. Then the veil slides down again and her gaze is neutral, almost professional.

“You'll need vitamins.”

“Vitamins?”

“Prenatal vitamins. I'll bring you some.”

He read about prenatal vitamins. He is... he feels grateful.

“Thank you.”

“You could come to Stark Tower,” she says. “You'd be safer there.”

He shakes his head after frowning for a moment. She closes her eyes but shrugs.

“I have a safe house, if you need it.”

His lips twitch at a corner. Then he tilts his head.

“Why? Why are you helping me?”

“I want you to be safe,” she says. “I don't want Hydra to find you.”

His chest is warm and he blinks at the strange moisture in his eyes. Then he nods and looks down again.

“Okay.”

* * *

 

Natasha leaves after a while, saying she'll be back the next day with vitamins.

He can't seem to sit still after she leaves. He keeps checking the locks on the door and peering out the windows.

What if she was lying to him? What if she is with Hydra?

She worked for SHIELD. There could still be SHIELD. Maybe it didn't really go down.

Maybe this has all been a test. Maybe there are cameras-

No. He knows there aren't cameras.

He still wants to tear apart the walls and the furniture, even though he already searched them when he first came into the room.

Bucky eyes the laptop on the table, his brow furrowing. He took out the tracking devices in it along with the devices in his arm, but it doesn't mean there aren't more... subtle and sophisticated methods of tracking it. What if he made a mistake by going on the internet with it?

What if he made a mistake by even turning it on?

He takes a deep breath, trying to believe that this hasn't all been a trap.

At two in the morning, he finally lies down beside the bed and shuts his eyes. He needs rest. Natalia... Natasha, will return in the morning with prenatal vitamins.

If Hydra comes, if they try to come through the door, he will wake and he will neutralize the threat.

 


	4. Natalia Returns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky begins to recall more about his childhood. He bonds with Natasha who seems intent on taking him under her wing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter references sexual abuse. I've put things like this in the tags but I did want to add a warning at the beginning of this chapter. It's not really a flashback, but Bucky is remembering details.

When he awakes, sweating and gasping, his throat dry, he looks around with wild eyes for a few moments. His hands are shaking as he leans against the side of the bed after peering over it, at the door.

He's safe. For now.

Bucky tries to remember what he dreamed about.

There were dark hallways with concrete floors – images and surroundings confused from his past. SHIELD did not have concrete floors. They did have the smooth black walls though.

The concrete floors are from earlier in his training.

There were instruments dripping with liquid, Rumlow and a sky cloudy with ash, a safehouse in the south west.

He closes his eyes and breathes in through his nose. He gets up to urinate in the bathroom, then stares at himself in the mirror. Blue eyes are still dilated with fear.

He washes the sweat from his face. Then he turns off the bathroom light because it feels like a beacon and he goes to sit on the floor in the darkness again.

His back is aching – not his arm so much this time, but his lower back. So he gets up and grabs the pillows, propping them up against the bed and leaning against them.

“You have to take care of yourself now,” Natasha told him before she left.

He gets up and gets the notebook and pens. He takes one of the lamps from the bedside table and puts it on the floor, then turns it on. He knows the light will probably still be visible to anyone outside, but it just feels better with the lamp on the floor. It doesn't make any sense, but feelings aren't logical.

He taps his pen against the page, then begins to write.

“Vitamins,” he writes, starting a list. “Ensure. Vegetables. Folic acid?”

He knows that folic acid is very important for pregnant women and the development of a fetus. He discovered this from videos about pregnancy.

After a few minutes, he realizes he was writing in Russian again. It doesn't matter. The harder it is for anyone else to read his notebook, the better.

He revisits the pages where he wrote about Steve and Bucky – himself, James Barnes. As he reads he begins to see a dusty city street. Brooklyn.

* * *

 

George Barnes is looking down at him. At Bucky.

“Kid, I'm trying to help you but you have to give me something here,” Barnes's father is saying.

They are outside the house, the father sitting on the front steps. He is looking at his son with sadness and concern. He wants to help his son, the asset can see this in his eyes, but he doesn't know how.

The younger Barnes shrugs.

“Da, please. Can't I just wear pants? I _hate_ dresses. Girls wear pants sometimes.”

“Sometimes. But not every day. And you cut all your hair off again, sweetheart.”

“I don't like it long,” he runs a hand through his hair. He's feeling like there's pressure building up in his chest. Why does everyone want to make him wear a damn dress? “ _Please_ Da.”

“Buck...”

“Da, _please_.” Tears blur his eyes but he doesn't let them fall. He takes a deep breath cause he feels like he can't breathe, but he sets his chin and looks into his father's eyes because a real man doesn't back down and doesn't cry. “Please.”

His father sighs wearily. He's wearing his uniform. The Sargeant looks at his son with a frown.

“I can't... I don't have time to deal with this, Jeanie.”

“I'm _not Jeanie_.”

His father is giving him the look that says _Jeanie_ will get a _whipping_ if she doesn't step in line. But he keeps his chin raised and looks at his father, blinking against the tears. He isn't glaring. He's just not giving in. It's the look he's seen Steve give people before.

Stevie doesn't know it, but he gives Bucky courage every single day.

Something in his father's eyes shifts and they soften. He just looks tired and seems to deflate.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, come here.”

George Barnes pulls his child into a hug and James is stiff at first, but then relaxes. Boys shouldn't accept hugs. Not boys his age anyway. Bucky is eleven and it's more like a girl to accept a hug, but he squeezes his father back, sniffling and patting him on the back. His father chuckles, patting him too.

“All right,” he pulls back. “I have to get going. But do your mother a favor and wear a dress to mass on Sunday.”

“Da,” Bucky groans.

“James,” he said and his tone is hard. The boy scowls but nods finally.

“Yes, sir.”

His hair is ruffled and he smiles a little.

“And when her friends come to visit.”

“Oh God,” another groan follows.

“ _James_.”

“Yes, sir.”

George Barnes is giving him a look so he straightens his back and stops sulking. Sulking is for babies.

“I've got to go now, Buck. You keep things in shape here, you hear me?”

He lifts his chin, his chest filling with air, and he nods. Then he smiles a little and salutes.

“Yes, sir!”

George Barnes's lips twitches a little. His eyes are fond. Then he's ruffling his son's hair once more and walking away.

* * *

 

As the asset recalls, the boy then watches his father walk down the street toward the bus station where he gets on the bus for Camp Leigh.

Sitting on his bed in real life, the asset feels how tight his chest was and takes a deep breath, frowning, his flesh hand resting there. Tears had wet his own eyes. He'd never imagined a child would feel such desperation but then he has seen child soldiers in combat. He has seen and known desperation himself. It just hadn't occurred to him that James Buchanan Barnes felt it so early on in life.

Now he truly wonders if it's wise to have a child at all. Especially when so much can go so wrong.

He shudders, remembering the child soldiers. The asset had not enjoyed killing them but they were in the way and they, like the Widows, were combatants. If the Widows, as little girls, had been his enemies, he would have fought them too. Being a child meant nothing.

At least, in his world it didn't.

Now... now he can see that he was wrong. That the Black Widow program, that Department X, that Hydra... they were all wrong. What they did was evil. Children are supposed to be cared for, the way George and Winifred Barnes had cared for their children.

It hurts him that he had been a part of so many evil things, and he wonders if Steve Rogers would ever find it in him to forgive Bucky. Probably not.

Natalia, at least, does not seem to hold things against him but she understands how life truly is; cold and cruel. He feels pride when he thinks about her, because she's grown strong and risen above the circumstances. She is the finest soldier he's ever known, except perhaps, for Rogers.

Can he bring a child into this world, knowing it might suffer? Knowing Hydra...

He takes a deep breath, the desperation and pain still in his chest. Maybe he has some kind of chest ache? What was it called... He'd read a web page with pregnancy symptoms on it.

Heartburn?

It amuses him that heart ache is not a medical term but heart burn is. Maybe he has heart burn? Maybe he's just tense.

“ _I thought it was all in good fun, but you're not a little boy- a child- anymore, Jeanie.”_

“ _I'm not Jeanie. I'm never gonna be Jeanie!”_

“ _Why are you doing this? Why are you doing this to your mother and I?”_

 

“ _Stevie you're the only one who gets it. You're the only one who understands.”_

_'It's why he can't die.'_

 

“It's why he can't die?” he murmurs aloud to himself. Was that why he didn't kill Rogers on the helicarrier? Because he needs the captain to live... to know his secret?

He doesn't know what to do with the emotions attached to the memories. They're sharp and devastating.

Bucky breathes deeply and feels liquid heat trailing down his cheeks. He wipes at his face with his flesh hand, sniffing. He can't cry because he'll be punished.

He picks up the pen and notebook, then begins to write down the memory, despite his tears. This time, he writes in English.

* * *

 

When Natalia comes, he's had an _Ensure_ to drink and he's nibbling on an Oreo. He thinks he remembers cookies like this... before. Before the war, maybe. But he isn't sure.

Natalia – Natasha, knocks on the door and he gets up to check. He scans the parking lot, peeking through the window to make sure, then he unlocks the door and opens it for her.

Her lips quirk, amused, at the sight of him with an Oreo in hand, crumbs around his mouth. She raises an eyebrow and holds up another plastic bag. He steps back and she sweeps in.

He notices that she's wearing a shawl today and a sweater. It's chilly out and the wind is sharper, colder. He closes the door, a chill traveling up his spine, after eyeing the parking lot closely for a moment.

Then he sits down in his chair, watching as she pulls out a small bottle. She shakes it at him, then tosses it.

Bucky catches it and eyes it curiously. He reads the propaganda on the bottle, then pops it open and takes two of the vitamins. They taste fruity, tart. He makes a face as he chews and Natasha's lips quirk again.

“They aren't bad. I've taken fruit vitamins before. Not prenatal ones,” she adds quickly. She leaves the bag on the desk with the food on it. Then she curiously picks up a bottle of Ensure and shakes her head slightly.

“You can't live off these forever,” she tells him.

“I know.”

“You could try juicing,” she says.

“Juicing?”

“Vegetables. You blend them together. You could do carrots and apples with kale.”

He makes a face and she laughs.

“Oh you're a juicing connoisseur now?”

“A connoisseur?”

“Someone who is experienced with taste,” she explains. She moves to sit on the bed, crossing her legs. “I can't stay long today. I just wanted you to know that Rogers and Wilson are still in Ukraine.”

He nods. “You're watching me.”

She nods once after considering him for a moment.

“I'm trying to protect you.”

He huffs. As if he needs protection. Well, maybe he does, now that he's at a disadvantage. He has to take care of himself.

“So what are you going to name it?”

He looks up in surprise. He hadn't really thought about names.

“The baby?”

She shrugs as if to say 'who else?' Bucky frowns, his brows furrowing, as he looks down at the bottle in his lap.

His lips stretch at the corners and he look up at her.

“Natalia.”

She narrows her eyes. “Don't name it Natalia.”

His lips spread into a smile. He feels his shoulders shake as his breaths deepen. She looks at him with mild surprise.

His smile fades as he realizes that he's laughing.

“I'm going to name it Natalia,” he says, smiling slightly. “Even if it's a boy.”

“No,” she rolls her eyes. “Then it would be Nathan.”

“Nathan.” He thinks. “Or... Steve?”

She laughs and shakes her head.

“I'm sure Steve would like that.”

“George,” he says softly. After his father, George.

She raises an eyebrow. Her eyes seem to stare off for a moment, then they light up.

“I see,” her eyes are soft. “George is a nice name.”

He nods. But is it too outdated? He'll have to think about this carefully. He wants the baby to be able to fit in, to hide well from Hydra.

“I don't know if it's good enough,” he muses. He realizes that his mouth is dry so he gets up and goes to the sink where he has a drink of water.

“You know there's this thing called bottled water nowadays, right?” Natalia asks him. The bathroom door is open so she can speak to him.

He shrugs. He doesn't really see the difference between a bottle of water and water out of the sink.

“It's probably not as dirty as the water from the sink,” her nose is still wrinkled. It makes him snort in amusement again and he shakes his head.

When he's had enough water, he closes the door to use the toilet. For some reason he feels as if he's already shared too much with Natalia.

It has never bothered him before that he has to sit down or squat to urinate – not until he fled from Hydra and it became doubly inconvenient to have to drop his pants when he needed to expel. Now it causes him to think about what it is to have this body – a body that betrays him.

A body that can be so strong but so vulnerable.

He feels anger when he thinks of the videos – disgust. He is a weapon. He should not be used for those things.

A shudder passes down his spine as another memory returns. Alexander Pierce standing over him as he lies on a bed, his legs spread. Pierce hauling his hips closer with his hands.

_'I'm not for this.'_

Making the asset take him inside. Staring at the ceiling in Pierce's house until he's ordered to look into the man's eyes.

He shudders.

Natalia calls from the room.

“You okay in there?”

“Functional,” he responds. He knows that normal people should say things like 'Fine.' He'll have to practice. “Fine,” he adds. He finishes his business and washes his hand. Washing hands is important because if he doesn't wash his hand, he will spread germs. He is unlikely to become ill with his serum, but he is not sure how he may be affected with the pregnancy. He cannot risk injury or illness if he wishes the baby to be healthy.

Bucky inspects his belly, pushing away the memories of Alexander Pierce's cold hands and grunts.

He is no longer Hydra's tool, no longer their weapon. Still, the memories make him want to take a shower and scrub his skin, as if the memories of Pierce's hold over him could be so easily washed away.

He exits the bathroom, frowning.

“What is it?” Natalia is still sitting on the bed.

He shakes his head, as he did when she was younger, a little girl, and he did not wish to answer her questions. She purses her lips, as she did then. A smile tugs at his lips. It's good to have Natalia here. It's almost like... Like a relative. Like family.

His throat is tight, but he is not sure why. He swallows agains the lump as he looks at her. It strikes him that this is emotion – sadness of some kind. He looks away, embarrassed.

“I'm gonna head out,” she says. He nods. “If you see anything weird,” she hands out a phone. He frowns, eyeing her, then the phone. “It's a completely safe line. It's not a Starkphone.”

He eyes it, then sighs and takes it.

“I already loaded it with minutes. If you need anything, text me.”

He doesn't like this. This dependence on her. But he nods and begrudgingly puts it in the pocket of his jeans.

“Thank you,” he says.

“My phone number is already in the contacts.” She steps forward, awkwardly, slowly, then leans in and wraps her arms around his waist. She pats his back, rubs it gently. He's stiff at first, but he returns the embrace.

“Thank you,” he says again, allowing himself to close his eyes and soak up the warmth of her being. It's very different from any touch he's experienced lately. It's nice and he feels a little more relaxed when it's over. Soothed.

His lips stretch a little as she gives him a last look, then turns and leaves. He watches her go before glancing around the parking lot and closing the door. He locks it, turning all of the bolts.

Bucky takes the laptop and uses it to go online. In the search engine, he types 'juicing' and spends a good hour looking in awe through pages and pages of results.

Clearly he will need to go shopping again soon. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did my research and apparently Oreos were invented in 1912, which makes them more than a hundred years old! Interestingly, they were called 'Oreo sandwich cookies' during the 1930s and I totally recommend Googling the hilariously awkward ads from that era.


	5. Pillaged

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Hydra shows up at the hotel Bucky is hiding out in, Natalia saves the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter include mention of abuse, torture, and mind control.

Natalia appears the next day while Bucky is at the grocery store. Her sleek black car pulls up as he exits the store, her passenger side window rolling down.

“Get in.”

He scowls at her, as he peers through the window.

“Why?”

“Hydra. They broke into your room and raided it. Now the cops are there.”

His eyes widen and he glances around warily.

“Get in,” she leans over and opens the passenger side door. “I'll take you to my safehouse.”

He slips into the passenger seat, cursing his luck, bags in both hands. Then he shuts the door. Natasha slides the window closed and the car begins to move slowly. Bucky tenses at the sight of a police car nearby.

“It's okay. This is what tinted windows are for.”

He keeps his face down anyway, glad for his baseball cap. His heart is hammering.

The police will search his hotel room and find his computer and his journal, if Hydra has not taken his things already. His face heats as he thinks of Hydra agents reading his journal and laughing at him.

Or viewing the videos of his impregnation...

He raises his head.

“We have to go by the hotel!”

“Why?”

“Because... the computer,” he looks into her face. “There were files about... my baby.” His eyes are hot and he feels annoyed at himself for getting so emotional. He looks away.

“If Hydra broke in-”

“They have it,” he hisses. Then he looks at her. “How long were they-”

“The woman at the desk said someone else at the hotel told her people broke into the room – two men with guns. Then she called the cops. I arrived just a few moments before the police.” She adds when he opens his mouth to speak. “But I wasn't able to get in. The police pulled up just as I was parking.”

He sighs heavily.

“Now they will all know,” he says in Russian.

“If they didn't know already,” she points out. He shakes his head.

“Only a few people knew. Pierce. The doctor. The techs on the project.” He sighs again and leans back in the seat. “Where is the safehouse?”

“Out of this state. North.”

He frowns at the lack of detail, but begins to move his bags of goods to the backseat.

“Thank you, Natalia,” he tells her after a while. “I could have been captured.”

“Or there would be a lot of dead police by now,” she muses, wryly.

He scowls at her. He isn't that out of control! Then he huffs weakly and shakes his head.

“Maybe so.” But Steve wouldn't like that, so Bucky would have tried to at least incapacitate them, rather than kill them.

“Seatbelt,” she tells him. He scoffs, but obeys.

 

* * *

 

“You still plan on keeping it?” she asks after they pull away from a gas station an hour later.

The asset – Bucky - is eating a mix of nuts, raisins, and candy called 'trail mix.' He doesn't really understand what it has to do with trails.

“Yes.”

She sighs. “I will help you all I can. But you know they'll never stop hunting for you.”

He nods. He's been planning on going on the offensive. Should he tell her that? Will she agree that he must or advise him against it?

“Do you have intel on Hydra?” he looks to her. “Leads on any bases? Safehouses?”

She glances at him, curious and slightly alarmed. They are on a road winding through beautiful countryside.

“Why?”

“I need to go on the offensive. That's why I had that computer.”

She frowns and looks ahead. “I don't know, Dimitri.”

He smirks at the old moniker and shakes his head. It was one of his covers on a mission.

“Don't you think it's risky/”

Her lips stretch at one corner but her eyes hold concern as she asks it.

“Yes, but if I do nothing, Natalia...”

She nods. “I'll help you.”

He shakes his head. “You're already giving me a place to stay and you keep watch over me.”

“I'm not going to just watch you run off on your own – especially in your condition.”

He huffs, his chest feeling warm. Natalia cares about him and he barely even remembers her-

The tears surprise him. He looks away, blinking. He shouldn't cry, because he'll be beaten or wiped.

Unless they _want_ him to cry.

Natalia won't wipe or beat him though, he reminds himself. It's okay to cry now.

“Are you...” she glances to him and for a moment she seems startled, even embarrassed by his tears.

“Forgive me.”

“No, no,” she gently puts a hand on his metal one, resting on his knee. “You're fine,” her thumb brushes over his and he's surprised. She has a good bedside manner for an assassin.

“I'm... proud of you,” he tells her. “You grew up to be a good woman.”

She lets out a soft laugh, but he sees the blush deepen on her cheeks. It makes him smile and he sets his flesh hand over hers and gently rubs it. She glances to him with a raised eyebrow.

“Never thought I'd see you get sentimental,” she teases him. He scowls. His shoulder lifts in a shrug, and he releases her hand.

“Maybe I'm getting soft,” he says, but it's with real concern, a line furrowing between his eyebrows.

She shakes her head.

“Maybe I have too. Maybe it's not such a bad thing, though.”

He rolls his eyes. “I can't be soft.”

She sighs as she looks out the windshield. “Letting a part of yourself be soft doesn't mean that you let your guard down completely.”

He frowns as he looks out the window. It sure sounds to him like the same thing.

“You have to have a little softness to be a parent,” she points out and he can hear the smile in her voice. It causes the corners of his mouth to tug upward and he glances to see her giving him an amused look and he scoffs.

“Maybe so,” he admits. “Where are we going?”

She smiles a little, her gaze ahead.

“I told you – we're going north.”

He rolls his eyes. “How far north?”

“Kingston.”

He makes a face.

“Kingston?”

“Ontario,” she says after a moment.

His eyes widen.

“We're going to Canada?”

She huffs a laugh. “Yes. Why? Do you have anything against Canada?”

To his surprise, she gets them across the border without any problems. He figured there would be people looking for him but some badge that Natasha flashes gets her past the friendly border guard without any problems.

“What did you show him?” he asks finally after they've been in Ontario for fifteen minutes. She hands her wallet to him and he raises a brow.

It's a Canadian border patrol ID.

He snorts and hands it back to her, shaking his head.

“Good job.”

“I know,” she smiles. “It's a very convenient one to have.”

 

* * *

 

They reach the safehouse and he slips from the car once it stops to immediately circle around it first, to scope it out.

He's astounded to realize that it actually has a boat house, down an incline traversed by wooden stairs. Curious, he slips a hand in his pocket, resting it on the pistol there as he slips quickly down the stairs that lead to the boat house.

The door to the boathouse is locked but he can see through the window on it that there is actually a boat inside. He blinks in surprise, doing a double take, but yes, there is really a boat in there and it looks like a _nice_ boat too. Romanova has a _boat_.

He doesn't know why it seems like such a surprise. He actually doesn't know her all that well and his memories of her are fragments he can barely organize into any meaning. Still... she doesn't really seem like the type to have a lake house and go _boating_.

Then again, it does remind him of a certain red haired girl who had a penchant for getting her nose into everyone else's business.

That brings a momentary smile to his lips.

He glances out over the lake, raising his flesh hand to shade his eyes and grimacing. He sees nothing but the lake and far away, another shore. There is a breeze moving over the lake and it's chillier here than it was in Ohio.

He turns and heads up the stairs then enters through the backdoor which she unlocked for him. He's surprised at how well she apparently knows him – she must remember more than he does. She stands in the kitchen by the back door with a small smile of amusement. She's sticking some of his groceries in the fridge for him.

“I'm probably going to head into town to get some more groceries. But you can make yourself comfortable. I usually sleep on the bottom floor but there's more rooms upstairs.

He raises his eyebrows at this, then shrugs. Bucky moves through the house, noting all of the windows and exits. There's one bedroom on the bottom floor.

He moves toward the stairs and heads up quickly without another word.

There are two bedrooms upstairs, one slightly larger than the other. He chooses the one with a window that gives him a view of the road. He finds a rifle in the closet along with ammo. Bucky even gives the attached scope a pleased look after peering through it. It looks as though it has been well kept and cleaned. Natalia has kept this house in good order. He wonders if the boat has been used recently.

“I'll be back in thirty,” she calls up the stairs.

“Copy that,” he calls, moving to stand at the top of the stairs. She playfully salutes him and then she's heading out the front door carrying a fat purse. He gives her a nod in return.

She even changed her clothes and with a jacket and a black Kingston Frontenacs cap on, she could pass for a local woman. He watches her out the front bedroom window with mild amusement as she climbs into her car and backs out of the driveway into the street. He shakes his head.

He stays put for a few minutes, watching the road. His instincts aren't telling him there's anything to be wary of, but he likes to be sure. With a yawn, he heads down the stairs and decides to have a snack. He takes a bottle of the Ensure from the fridge and drinks it. As he's looking around the kitchen he notes a blender. Good. If Natalia brings back vegetables and fruits he can try juicing. At least, he thinks he can use a blender for that. The internet recommended juicers and he isn't quite sure what the difference is.

He thinks of the laptop and his notebook again and feels a heat travel up his cheeks as he moves into the kitchen and looks back out at the boathouse. He doesn't want to think about Hydra agents reading about the things he's discovered about himself, about the things he remembers.

The boy who used to be called Jeanie, the Bucky Barnes who worked at the docks – those belong to Bucky now. Not to Hydra.

His metal hand makes a fist with anger and he grimaces as he feels a sharp twinge in his shoulder. With a scowl, he stretches his arms out, flexing it.

When Natalia returns, he's sitting down on the floor in front of the sofa, watching tv. There are a few channels but no cable, not that he really cares. He gets up to help her with the groceries and notices a duffel bag she's carrying. It turns out to have a laptop in it which she pulls out and sets on the table. He returns to sitting with his back against the sofa.

“Why don't you sit on the couch?” she asks, her eyes still on the laptop.

He sighs. He has a feeling she knows why he will not sit on the couch. He turns to look over his shoulder, then looks to her. He seems her lips twist and eyebrows rise in an encouraging expression, her gaze on him. She's stopped typing for the moment.

He blows out a breath and then gets up and sits down on the sofa, slowly scooting back on to it. His flesh hand trembles as he forces himselef to lean back slowly into the sofa. It's a comfortable sofa, or should be, but he's having a hard time relaxing. Then again, when has he ever really relaxed?

He's been sort of relaxed around Natalia – as close as he can get to relaxed around other people.

It isn't something he's really paid attention to before.

Now he notices that his back is aching and he still feels a twinge in his left shoulder sometimes. His knees are also sore and as he breathes in and exhales slowly, his shoulders slowly lower and he feels the tension there too.

He looks up at Natasha, frowning. Her lips are quirking up at one corner. He has a memory of... another house somewhere. He is looking over at her, sitting at a table, and her lips should be spreading wider, into something close to a laugh. Her hair is – was – longer and wavy. There is delight in her eyes as he steps closer to her.

She's watching him curiously now.

“What is it?” she asks in Russian. He shakes his head and looks back at the television.

“Nothing.”

Natalia makes a sort of stew and it feels almost like a celebration when she also serves him tea and two cookies. He looks at the cookies perched on his saucer in surprise. It's common to have tea with dinner in Russia, but he has never seen cookies like these before.

“Go ahead. Try one,” she says. “After you eat your stew, of course.”

He takes it as an order. This... this is comfortable. He can sit at the table and eat. Sometimes he was allowed to sit at a table and eat. Natalia is not his handler and it's almost ironic her acting as such but...

He takes the spoon in his bowl and scoops up some of the stew. He tastes it and finds it hot. His eyes water and he makes a face. Natalia huffs.

“I did warn you,” she says. He rubs his burnt tongue over his teeth, then blows on the next spoonful.

He takes another sip when he thinks it's cooled enough and hums at the taste.

There are bits of meat in the stew but it's mostly vegetables. He still eats carefully, slowly.

'Oh, it's good to have a hot meal.'

He doesn't know where that memory comes from. He's sitting at a table and someone sets a bowl of something in front of him. Stew, he guesses. The person who sets the stew on the table is skinny and blonde.

Steve?

He stares thoughtfully into his bowl, then looks at Natalia who is sipping her stew and pretending not to be watching him. She looks back at him, eyebrow rising.

“What?”

“I remember... I had stew like this,” he admits. “With Steve. I think.”

Her lips twist at the corners again.

“Good,” she tells him. “Steve would be glad, you remembering things.”

“I think it was him,” he shrugs, looking down at the bowl again. “I can't be sure.”

“Is your stomach feeling well?” she asks.

He blinks and puts his flesh hand over his stomach. She does not often ask about his well being, because she is Natalia and she was not trained to as a child. But she does seem to care about people and she seems far more... human than he is. She was an asset like him but... a different kind of asset. More agent than asset.

He isn't used to noticing his feelings or noticing his stomach. At the moment he feels pleasantly full and it surprises him.

“I feel well,” he says, looking at her seriously but with a small rush of pleasure as he says it. He does feel well, despite how tired he is and how stiff.

“You should try sleeping on a bed tonight,” she tells him. “You can't be sleeping on the floor much longer – not in your state.”

She glances to his metal arm as she says it and he frowns down at his bowl which is less than half full. He at least ate most of his stew.

He doesn't know how the metal arm or the metal in his body anchoring it to his spine will affect the fetus inside of him. He hopes it will not but he cannot be sure until...

He looks up at her.

“I need...” he licks his lips, swallowing and finding his mouth dry suddenly. “I need a doctor.”

She tilts her head, her eyes lighting up with something like concern.

“Are you in pain?”

He shakes his head, then stops. He makes a face. He points to his shoulder – his left shoulder. He draws himself inward, almost away from her, and he doesn't know why at first.

Then he remembers – the asset does not feel pain. It does not report pain, only damage that interferes with a mission.

He feels something below the surface of his chest, something under his heart. He doesn't know what it is at first but it causes his fists to tighten and his teeth to clench. He breathes harder.

The asset does not feel pain. It does not report pain, only damage that interferes with a mission.

_The asset does not speak unless asked a direct question or given permission to speak._

_The asset eats only when permitted to eat._

_The asset urinates only when permitted to. The asset defecates only when permitted to._

_The asset does not ask for water. The asset does not ask for food. The asset is not cold. The asset is not hot. The asset does not feel._

_There was screaming and whimpering. Someone was begging for it to stop but the asset does not ask for pain to end. The asset does not mind pain. The asset endures pain for the sake of the mission. The asset obeys its Masters and does not question the mission._

“James.”

He blinks and looks up at her. She's watching him closely, barely masking the concern in her eyes.

“Are you with me?”

He nods. He realizes he's trembling and both hands are still in fists. He forces his hands open and then breathes out slowly. He didn't even know he was holding his breath.

What is happening to him? _He's becoming erratic. 'Wipe him.'_

“I know this is a lot,” she tells him. “But remembering things? That makes you human.”

He doesn't want to be human. Maybe.

He thinks about the fetus inside of him and bites his lower lip as he looks down at the table again. He pushes himself back, then gets up from the table and heads toward the stairs. He stops and looks back at her.

“Thank you,” he says. He blinks and moves back toward the table. “I can... clean.”

“It's okay,” she shakes her head. “You can go get some rest.”

He huffs. “At least... let me do some of the dishes.”

“Okay.” She smiles. “Let me finish my tea first. You can go watch the news if you want.”

He nods, then heads back into the living room. He watches the local news. There's a tornado sweeping through a town called Angus. That's really about all that's on the news.

“Holy shit,” Natasha says when she enters the living room and sees the news. Then she looks at him. “Ready for dishes?”

He nods and gets up from the floor – he'd forgotten to sit on the sofa again. He grunts as he gets up.

“You're going to have to be more gentle with yourself,” her tone is... teasing, he realizes. He frowns.

“I'll be gentle when Hydra is gone.”

She smirks as she heads back into the kitchen. He follows her to the sink where the dishes are waiting. She shows him how to rinse them off and put them in the dishwasher. He's never used a dishwasher before. He saw one in Pierce's house and in other houses before, he thinks, but he does not ever remember using one. She even shows him how to put the proper soap in it and how to turn it on. He listens to it run, then watches as she puts the stew and cookies away.

“Want some more tea?”

He shakes his head. He realizes that he's tired and feels puzzled. Why is he tired? He only rode in a car today. He thinks he remembers handlers complaining about being tired from a long trip, but isn't sure.

“Go get some rest,” she tells him. “Try lying on the bed.” When he scowls, her lips quirk with amusement again. “Just try it. If you don't like it, fine. Sleep on the floor. But at least use a pillow.”

He sighs. He doesn't see why she has to tell him what to do. On the other hand, he understands that she is trying to help.

She tells him to rest well and then heads to her own room after turning the tv off. He heads upstairs, surprising himself with another yawn. Then he heads into his bedroom but not before checking the other bedroom. Earlier he checked it for more weapons but the only ones he found were the rifle in his bedroom, a pistol under his bathroom sink, and two knives in the closet of the spare bedroom. He's taken the knives and the pistol of course.

He lies down on top of the bed with his clothes on, but it feels exposed. He does remove his boots though and he takes the pillow and a blanket to the floor. He folds the blanket up and lies on top of it. He still doesn't like to be covered – it makes him vulnerable to an attack.

He closes his eyes and lets the day's experiences wash over him. There was the grocery store and then Natalia showed up. Hydra raided his room and took his things. They have his notebook and his laptop. His hands clench into fists again before he forces them to relax.

He told Natalia that he wanted to see a doctor. He almost wants to run and tell her that he changed his mind. She didn't say anything about finding one yet, but she might. He's terrified of the thought that the doctor will appear at the house and he finds himself almost amused at his own fear. It's ridiculous. Why is he afraid of a solitary doctor? He could easily punch them once and it would be enough to put them unconscious.

He finds himself shaking as he lies with his back to the wall. It's funny.

He's chuckling. He isn't sure why the thought of punching the doctor is funny, but it is.

Maybe he really is erratic. Somehow this just makes him chuckle even more. He wonders if Natalia can hear him and it almost makes him stop.

He sighs and yawns again. He just feels so tired.

Bucky lets his eyes fall closed. He pictures a thinner Steve Rogers smiling at him across a table and setting a bowl of stew in front of him.

'There you go, you big ape.'

Somehow the words make him smile just a little.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another delightful chapter! I had fun Googling things about Canada for this one. Is wearing sports team hats a common thing there? Baseball hats are super common in the US, especially team hats so I don't know if that's one of the universal cultural things or if it's more of an American thing to wear sports fan stuff. Do hockey folk wear baseball caps? I have so many questions for Canadians xD


	6. A Mission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natalia passes along intel to Bucky and helps him learn how to take care of himself. Bucky has disturbing memories of his time as the 'asset.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first section is creepy Pierce porn. If you're into that sort of thing, go ahead and read! But if not, skip to the second lined section marked with an asterisk and a 2 like this: *2. Skip to the end for Pierce porn spoiler.

“Hydra has plans for you,” Alexander Pierce explains. He's sitting on the edge of Pierce's bed, in the man's bedroom. 

The asset nods to show he understands. Hydra always has plans for him. How is this anything new?

“You are the key to our future. We aren't really going to need super soldiers anymore, not with Project Insight.”

The asset blinks. He knows a little about Project Insight but only what was explained to him recently. It's not beneficial for him to know much about Hydra's plans, in case he is ever captured during a mission. Not that that will happen. Yet he feels it may have happened at some point, even if he doesn't remember.

“We will need healthy soldiers and your serum allows you to heal quickly. Zola may be gone, but his gift runs through your veins. You're going to father a race of men. Or rather, mother them.”

The asset is confused. He thinks this must have something to do with the space between his legs and the doctor's recent interest in it. Earlier, he had to lay down on a metal table and his legs were in stirrups. He was nervous and his fingers dug into the table. He remembers the doctor telling him to relax. His arms were strapped down and there was something cool and wet at the hole between his legs. Something cold and metal.

He panicked.

He thrashed and fought and they had to give him something to calm him down – an injection. Now he is getting a lecture.

He bows his head in shame. He should have been able to control himself, but he was frightened. He isn't sure why. He just knows that part of him is very sensitive.

“I know you were frightened,” Pierce says gently and the soldier gives him a grateful look and nods. “You can't help if you react sometimes. I know that happens. But I need you to trust in me, just like you have before. We've been through a lot together.”

The asset nods again.

“You understand why we're doing this, don't you?”

He licks his lips. Then he nods.

“We have to make a stronger race of men for a better tomorrow. You want Hydra to achieve its goals, don't you?”

The asset nods fervently. He lives and bleeds for Hydra. It is all he has, his very reason for existence.

Pierce smiles. “I knew you would understand. Now, I think I know a way we can help you relax. This won't be how you'll become pregnant.”

The asset sits up. Pregnant?

Mothering. A race of men. The serum. It makes sense now.

Pierce just smiles, patient and fatherly.

“This will just help you become reacquainted with your body. I know you've been taught not to think of yourself in a sexual manner. It's a distraction from your missions. But soon, you won't have missions anymore.”

The asset's eyes widen slightly. No more missions? His brows steeple and he blinks several times, looking at the secretary anxiously.

“Decomissioning?”

“It's not that you aren't doing well. You've done your absolute best for so long. You're being retired from active duty. This way you can serve Hydra in a different way. You want to serve Hydra, don't you?”

He nods. “Please.”

“Shh. Don't think of this as decomissioning.”

The asset lowers his head, ashamed that he is becoming erratic. He doesn't know why his eyes are hot and wet. The secretary gently touches his shoulder and he looks up, hopeful.

“You're going to be serving Hydra in a new, wonderful way. You'll be bringing children to life. Individuals like yourself who will serve Hydra. And thanks to your serum, they'll be able to serve Hydra as long as you have. You'd like to have children, wouldn't you?”

The asset thinks about it. Children. Little hands and... he thinks of pattering feet on wood. Small toes. Smiles and dimpled cheeks. Curly brown hair that sticks out of a braid.

He recalls a metal crib too, he thinks, and a wailing baby inside with curly hair, but he isn't sure...

This is is his reward. For all of his loyal service. This is an upgrade.

He looks up and his lips stretch a little in a smile. He nods.

“Please.”

A baby in his arms that he can nourish and raise. He will teach it to be strong, watch it learn to fight. He will teach it everything he knows – how to find a perch, how to hide in snow, how to climb wet rock without slipping.

Pierce smiles. “Very good.”

The older man moves to sit down on the foot of the bed next to him. The asset is a little confused. He never sits on beds. Not unless the handlers want to fuck him. It's not one of his more common uses. He thinks this might be where his panic on the table came from. Medical procedures usually mean pain. He doesn't remember specific incidents of handlers fucking him but he knows that sometimes they do. He always has to obey his handlers and this is no different. He recalls that if he obeys he may be allowed to receive pleasure from the fucking.

Pierce sets a hand on his knee and begins to rub it. The asset watches him, his heart beating faster.

He feels warm as Pierce gently pushes a hand against his chest and has him lying back.

He's ordered to open his pants and slide them down and he does. Then Pierce is sliding a chair up to the foot of the bed. He sits in it and the asset is ordered to set his feet on the edge of the bed, legs bent at the knees.

Then Pierce is slipping on plastic gloves. One of his hands grips the asset's inner thigh and pushes his legs farther apart.

“There we go. Just like that. Now try to breathe nice and slow for me. Deep breaths.”

The asset obeys and feels Pierce gently rubbing his inner thigh. Then the gloved hand moves down to the sensitive part of him and his lips part in a soundless gasp.

“Please,” he begs, not knowing why. Pierce murmurs to him.

“Settle down. It's okay...”

His eyes are closing and his breaths are coming faster. Pierce's fingers slide over the flesh there and soon the asset realizes he's growing wet. His face floods with heat and he realizes he's embarrassed.

His fingers press down into the blanket.

“I'm sorry,” he says softly.

“No, no,” Pierce says. “You're doing very well. That's right. Keep breathing.”

His fingers probe at the entrance and the asset tries to breathe, tries to prepare for... what he isn't sure. Pain, he thinks.

There's a little sting when Pierce's finger enters him, just barely, then it's slowly oscillating in and out. The asset finds the experience... pleasurable.

Then Pierce's other hand settles on the mound above and his thumb presses against something that nearly has the asset arching against the bed.

A groan is torn from his throat.

“I'm sorry,” he shivers. “I'm sorry.”

“No, you're doing very well,” Pierce's voice sounds different, sort of thick. His thumb moves in slow circles and the asset groans again. His hips are trembling in the effort to stay still. It feels so good. His eyes are growing wet at the corners.

“Please,” he begs again. “Please.”

“That's right,” Pierce says. “You're doing very good.”

His fingers withdraw and the asset nearly cries out in protest. He looks up to see Pierce removing the gloves and tossing them aside. Then he's unzipping his fly and...

Pierce is hard. He strokes himself to full hardness and slips a condom on. Then he's pushing himself into the asset.

The asset's eyes widen and his head tips back, lips parting, at the stretching sensation. Tears trickle at the corners of his eyes.

For a moment, Pierce is still, sighing and closing his eyes.

“Very good,” he says. “You're doing so good for me.”

The asset shivers. He doesn't know why Pierce is joined to him like this. He doesn't think it's... It doesn't seem right somehow. It isn't... It isn't what usually happens?

But there's something oddly comforting about it and soon Pierce's hips are rolling slowly. The asset bites his lower lip and whines.

The pressure is building. His own hips barely resist the urge to rock and Pierce grips him firmly and begins to thrust in and out.

“Please,” he groans, his voice wobbling. “Please.” His back arches and he feels... oh he feels something so close!

“That's right. Come for me.”

He cries out, strangled, as his whole body tightens and then releases. Pleasure is radiating through his body unlike anything he can remember. Pierce lets out a groan a moment later and he's stiffening too.

Then it's over and the soldier is smiling. He feels so good. He opens his eyes and looks up at his handler with affection. His handler let him join in on this wonderful pleasure.

He's going to get to have a baby. Not from this, but from the doctors perhaps and he also gets to experience this pleasure.

“Thank you,” he whispers to the secretary who smiles at him. He seems out of breath.

“You're welcome,” the secretary chuckles and pats his thigh.

 

* * *

 

*2

Bucky wakes up with a soft gasp, shivering. He blinks several times and finds himself on the floor.

He lets out a grunt as he shifts into a sitting position and his back aches. Damn it.

He curses softly in Russian then pushes himself up to sitting properly.

He looks up to see Natalia watching him from the doorway and his face heats. He lowers his head.

His nipples are hard and he's... he's wet. Like in the dream.

He was dreaming about Pierce... Pierce fucking him.

He has a bitter taste in his mouth and makes a face. Natalia raises an eyebrow.

“Feeling all right?”

He nods. He slowly gets up from the floor with a quiet groan. Great. His knees are bothering him too now!

He needs to start stretching and exercising again or he's going to be getting stiff.

With that thought, he reaches down for his toes and begins to go through a stretching routine he was taught years before for when he exited cryo. They would have him perform it for the chair.

_'If you stretch there is a lesser chance of injury during your treatment.'_

His muscles got very tight when he was in the chair.

A shiver travels down his spine as he stretches. Natalia watches for a moment.

“I made breakfast,” she said. “Oatmeal and fruit smoothie for you. Something that'll go down easy.”

“Thank you,” he looks at her gratefully. She nods with a small smile and then she's heading back down the stairs.

He drops to the ground and starts to do pushups but then he's nauseated and groaning softly. He goes to the restroom and vomits. He scowls at the taste of last night's half digested dinner and flushes the toilet, then rinses his mouth out.

Bucky looks in the mirror and sighs. There is only the light drifting in from the window in the bedroom so he flicks the light on.

 _'Stay still,_ ' they tell him. Pierce is standing nearby, observing. There's the sound of a razor, shaving the hair from between his legs. He trembles on the table and closes his eyes tightly. He tries to think of his Skorpion, of taking it apart and putting it back together. Of anything but the possibility of pain.

_'If you're good for me, we'll do this again sometime.'_

He breathes out heavily, blinking and seeing his face in the mirror again. Where did his mind go that he drowned out his sight and his hearing. He glances around, paranoid. Romanova could have sneaked up on him. He is lucky that she desires to help him, rather than turn him over to Hydra.

If she were Hydra she might do the same thing though. She would want him to be healthy and carry his baby to full term so that she could hand them both over to Hydra in the end.

He shakes his head. Natalia is not Hydra. He sees it in the way she carries herself – not like an asset, but like a person. She does what she wants to do and somehow that makes him trust her.

It doesn't make sense, but it's what he has.

 

He goes downstairs and finds Natalia sitting with a smoothie of her own and a small plate of eggs. He recalls a woman sitting at a table, drinking tea but he isn't sure who it is. The woman has brown hair and looks very tired in his memory. There is a blonde woman too, he thinks, slighter than the brunette.

Natalia watches him sit and stirs a spoon in her tea before sipping it. She's just like a cat patiently waiting and pretending aloofness as she turns her attention back to her magazine. When she was younger she was boisterous – the most curious of the bunch and that was probably why he liked her best. His lips twitch a little at the memory of a girl with large green eyes who sneaked into his room and hid in the wardrobe to read books.

She ignores him while he drinks the smoothie. He has some eggs too, but they are a smaller portion size than Natalia's and he's grateful for that. Natalia's eggs have hot sauce on them. He peers curiously at the bottle of Sriracha on the table.

“I didn't know you were a hot sauce fiend,” he says.

She smirks. “I'm not a fiend for it. I just don't like plain eggs,” her nose wrinkles and her eyes turn back to her magazine. She sips the smoothie again.

“Did you use any of the kale?” he asks, frowning as he sips it. She makes a face.

“No. Kale isn't for breakfast.”

He rolls his eyes.

“All right, Mr Super Foods,” she teases. “We'll eat it at lunch.”

He nods and she smirks.

“If you want some exercise, you can try running up and down the steps,” she advises. “I also have a weight machine-”

“I saw.”

“Don't strain yourself,” she advises.

He raises an eyebrow at her and she raises one back in turn.

“Sure thing, mamochka,” he teases when he finishes his smoothie and gets up. He finds a glass and fills it with water from the sink, drinking heavily. Then he gets up to go to the room with the machine.

“Wait,” she holds up a hand. “You should let your stomach digest before you do anything.”

He stares at her, blinking, then smirks.

He nods. “Very well.”

He sits back down. She puts down her magazine.

“I received intel from Fury last night.”

His eyes widen and he sits up.

“You haven't acted yet?”

She shakes her head. “I was thinking we could work together.”

He frowns. “I don't usually work with a partner.”

“Some missions you have.”

He tenses. Then his eyes narrow at her.

“You've seen my files.”

“Files _on_ you. There was one from Hydra. I gave it to Steve.”

He pounds a fist on the table, surprising her. She gives him a puzzled look.

“Why?”

“He needed to understand what he's getting himself into.”

The words hurt. He knows they aren't meant to and he's surprised at the small part of him that is so sensitive... He nods, though.

“I didn't mean it like that,” she said and he's surprised that she noticed. He shrugs a shoulder.

“What is this intel?”

She notices that he's changed the subject of course and she raises an eyebrow, but she nods.

“There's a house in Manitoba.”

“A house?”

“Possibly more than one. It's like they infiltrated a community, north of Selkirk.”

He frowns. “What do they want with this community?”

She shrugged. “The same thing they want with any community. Resources. Loyal followers. A place to hide, maybe.”

“Where did Fury get this from?”

Natasha crossed her arms over her chest and shrugged.

“God only knows. I think he just lives in a room somewhere with a computer these days, farming data leaked to the internet.”

He snorts and shakes his head.

“Maybe he captured one Hydra agent and he keeps them in the room with the computer.”

Natasha lifts an eyebrow.

“Did you just make a joke?”

He smirks. Then he gets up.

“I think I've digested enough now. Let me know when you plan on acting.”

 

* * *

 

It takes him a few moments to work out how the machine works – it's a fancier one that he doesn't recognize – and he stretches before getting to work.

It feels good to get his muscles stretching again. The weights on this machine don't present much of a challenge, but he hasn't stretched or taxed himself much recently so they do help in terms of getting him back into fighting shape. He thinks he's been treating himself too delicately. He has time before the baby grows larger inside of him so he should stay active while he can.

While he's working out, Natasha comes into the room.

“I was thinking we need to find someone who can do work on your arm. Especially if it malfunctions.”

“It doesn't malfunction often,” he says with a frown. He's pushing a bar downward, extending his forearms as weights rise on the machine.

“But you had regular maintenance on it, no? Also - being pregnant? With that weight on your spine...” She shakes her head. “It can't be good for you.”

He frowns and releases the weights gently. Then he stretches his arms and shoulders.

“What do you suggest I do?”

She seems to be thinking.

“Stark is the best engineer I know.”

He frowns and shakes his head. “No.”

She nods. “But I did take some files from that computer you had.”

His eyes brighten. He'd forgotten that he let Natasha look through it. She smirks and holds up a USB drive.

“Smart girl!” he praises in Russian without even thinking. She gives him a look with a raised eyebrow and lets out a laugh. His face flushes but he notices that she's blushing too.

“Maybe I can look at these and figure out how to work with it,” she suggests. He tilts his head in thought. Natalia does have some technical skills and she, like him, learned how to dismantle and reassemble weapons. She might be able to at least assist him if he somehow damages the arm.

He nods slowly.

“That would help,” he looks up at her. He trusts her with the arm, even if she doesn't know much about how it works. She's bright and she can learn.

She looks slightly surprised that he agreed, but only for a moment, and then she seems almost pleased – bashfully proud. He smiles a little as he turns back to the machine.

She leaves him a glass of water in the room and he gets back to work. Once he's done working out his arms, he works on his legs too, away from the machine. He mostly focuses on stretching the muscles though he does some lunges.

While he's doing lunges, he feels a twinge in his left thigh and winces, slowly standing. As he's standing, he recalls something that happened.

'Faster! Come on, get up! Move!'

He was struck with something – a baton? Was it electric? He can't remember. He was doing lunges in the memory, just like this. They told him his muscles were getting atrophied while in cryo because he'd been stored incorrectly.

He sits, cross legged, on the floor for a while, letting his heart rate slow again. There's something in his chest, something like anger. Why didn't he fight back? Why didn't he take that baton and...

But Bucky knows why he didn't. Because he wanted to obey. Because he _wanted_ to please them.

He can't place the memory in time. It might have been in the 80s or later. He thinks the person in the memory was speaking English.

The room is cool and his sweat has cooled, making him feel chilly, so he decides to take a shower.

He goes upstairs and slips out of his clothes, then runs the shower. He leaves the door open with a shrug. It doesn't really matter if Natalia sees his body.

Fortunately there's a shower curtain in the tub anyway.

He relishes the sensation of the hot water through his hair and even finds some shampoo. It's strawberry and he laments his lost earlier purchases at the hotel. He washes his hair with it anyway, just relieved to get the itch out.

While in the shower, he takes note of his belly, turning this way and that to see if he has a bulge yet. There isn't one, but if he puts his flesh hand over his belly and presses gently he can feel something like bloating. He read, when he had the laptop, that the amount of amniotic fluid increases about 'two teaspoons' per week which is about nine point eight five milliliters. He closes his eyes and tries to picture the fetus, based on the pictures he's seen of them. They look like strange fleshy creatures, almost like gummy bears.

He's surprised that he even knows what a gummy bear is.

While washing himself, he takes an interest in the space between his thighs. He soaps himself there and shivers at the sensation that his fingers brushing against it bring. Bucky lets his eyes close, lets his head fall back as the sensation increases the more he circles his finger over the area. The one little nub at the top makes him shiver and he has to put a hand against the wall to steady himself.

'You can do this,' he thinks. 'It's allowed.'

'It's my body. It's my body...'

He finds it difficult to stand after a while so after some consideration, he sits back against the shower wall. He lets some of the soap rinse off from his fingers, finding that the area is naturally wet.

When the memories from his dream that morning threaten to intrude, he shakes his head vehemently and pauses. He snatches his hand away from that part of him, taking a deep breath and opening his eyes. He's in the shower. He's in Natalia's safehouse. He doesn't have to worry about Pierce anymore.

He never has to see Pierce's face again.

Bucky leans back and tries to relax again. He lets his mind wander, thinking of another pair of hands between his thighs.

Firm, strong hands with golden skin. Youthful hands. He already knows who they belong to and his face flushes. He lets out a huff, but when he closes his eyes he can see the firm, muscular figure in a blue uniform.

He can feel the weight of the blonde in his arms.

He shudders as he begins to move his hand faster. His eyes roll back into his head and he gasps. He bites his lip and squirms.

He needs more.

He uses his metal hand to stroke the outside while his flesh fingers gently prod at his entrance. Bucky's eyes close again and he's breathing faster as he slips a finger inside of him. It doesn't hurt – it feels good. He rolls his hips, starting to arch against the tub. He moves his finger slowly in and out, then in circles, and that's almost too good.

He lets out a soft groan, taken by surprise, as the pleasure expands until he feels like he's shaking apart. At the same time his body clenches inside and he's almost afraid for the baby, but he can't stop, not now. He rubs himself faster until he's lying against the back of the tub, shuddering and drained and feeling so, so good.

He blinks after a few moments and his senses return to the shower – the humidity around him, the cool porcelain beneath him, the dampness of his skin and... his hand is slightly cramped. He stretches it then finds himself smirking as he does. Something about this all makes him shake and... he's laughing, softly.

He feels so good that he just lets himself lie there for a few more minutes before sitting up and stretching. He pushes himself up on his feet with a grunt and finishes rinsing off before shutting the water off.

His face heats as he thinks he must have been in the shower too long. But when he comes out, dressed, his hair toweled off, Natalia doesn't say anything. He feels like it must be obvious – like his skin is loose and glowing all over. He feels more relaxed than he has in... well that he can remember.

He realizes he's hungry and reports this to Natalia who is on her laptop again.

She gives him a little smile, then waves him closer, inviting him to look at the laptop.

“I'll fix us something to eat,” she says. “I also have some vitamins for you to take – folic acid, vitamin D – pregnancy supplements.” She points to a short, fat bottle with pills in it that's resting on the table. He nods. He'll examine them in a moment.

He feels oddly clear headed and calm as he begins to look at the files she's pulled up – three agents, two male, one female. This is a mission file including brief portfolios of each along with their alibis. They were to infiltrate the community and set up a compound for Hydra. He checks the dates on the files – 10/22/13. It's the year prior. They have already been working for months and at this point may have fled. But Natalia is right to investigate. He sits down at the laptop and continues reading, his excitement at a possible mission growing.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bucky was dreaming about/remembering being raped by Pierce. Pierce told him that he would be 'retired' from active duty and his new purpose would be having strong children for Hydra due to his serum. Pierce has PIV sex with him, which Bucky (being brainwashed) gets pleasure from at the time but when Bucky wakes from his memory he feels disgusted with himself. Bucky doesn't understand that it was rape at the time because he couldn't properly consent; he just knows that he didn't really like Pierce.


	7. Journey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha and Bucky travel along Canada's southern border in a bid to catch a Hydra cell in action. Meanwhile, Bucky wrestles with the questions of his identity and that of his child's.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to apologize for how long it has been since I last updated! I meant to update more over the summer but I kinda fell into a rut with this fic, which is weird because it has so much going on there's no reason for me to be in a rut over it! But the muse can be fickle.   
> Anyway, here's the latest I've written for it and I promise it's not over yet.   
> All of my knowledge of the places mentioned here come from Google Maps and some research. I have never been to Canada.

It's going to take twenty three hours to get to the community Natasha's intel mentioned.

Bucky frowns as they leave Toronto, relieved that they didn't stop in the city. He knows that cities can be good for camouflage, but he'd rather not be surrounded by such a press of people.

It's noon. They've been driving since early that morning and now they're passing through some place called Pointe au Baril. It's a scenic, _picturesque_ place.

He isn't sure where he got the word 'picturesque' from. It certainly isn't a word the asset would use.

They pass by lakes and through forested areas. Natalia searches on the radio until she finds something that she deems acceptable and he relaxes as they make way.

He's had plenty of things to snack on during the trip and finds himself nodding off more than once. Natalia must allow him to nap, because she's gently shaking him awake and he finds the car has stopped.

“I need a break,” she tells him.

“Do you want me to drive?”

She snorts. “Not unless you feel like it. I think we just need to stretch our legs a bit.”

He does need to urinate, so he nods, and with a yawn, he opens the door and steps out. He stretches, rolling his shoulders when he steps out of the car and scowls as he feels a twinge in his back.

They're at some gas station combination store and he follows her inside.

“Where is the restroom?” he asks the man at the counter, surprising Natalia who points him in the proper direction. “Nevermind.”

The young man behind the counter just nods, pointing, and Bucky heads into the bathroom.

When he's done, he watches Natalia browse the racks of snacks. She takes two drinks, some crackers, some protein bars, and a candy bar, pays for them, and he follows her back out to the car.

They stand by the car, drinking for a few minutes while Natalia looks at her phone and figures out the GPS.

“We'll spend the night in Sault Ste Marie,” she tells him. “It's going to be another four hours or so.”

He nods. “You sure you don't want me to drive?”

She shrugs. “You can drive part of the way if you like.” She doesn't seem to trust him with her vehicle and he raises an eyebrow. Natasha frowns, then raises an eyebrow in turn.

“I have a license. You don't.”

“True,” he nods. He takes another sip of his drink. “Let me drive for a while.”

“Fine,” she says. “Two hours.”

Two hours are fine. He can certainly drive that long. He once drove nonstop from a town called Veslk to Moscow – a nine hour trip – while the STRIKE team slept.

He marvels now that he didn't just stop the car and shoot all of them.

_'Bad. Bad. The asset does not harm its handlers, the asset does not plan to harm its handlers-'_

He remembers pain and shudders, pushing away the thought, his eyes closing. He can remember driving the vehicle – an SUV, SHIELD issue – while Rumlow drifted off in the passenger seat to his right. They must have stopped at some point, he thinks, for the team to urinate or acquire food. He just doesn't remember it.

He can hear them talking, chattering in the back seat and teasing Rumlow about something but he doesn't remember the conversation. He remembers that his eyes felt itchy at the end of the drive and then he slept on the quinjet back to the States, in a large cage.

“James?”

He blinks and looks at Natalia. He drifted off in thought. This is why she doesn't trust him with the vehicle, he realizes, his cheeks heating.

“I was thinking,” he explains. “Memories,” he shrugs, glancing at her. She doesn't show the concern in her eyes, but she nods.

“Ready to go?”

He nods. He's ready.

 

* * *

 

He drives them as far as Blind River before he has to stop to pee. Natalia snoozes in the passenger seat. When they stop and she asks him why, he is sheepish.

“I have to urinate.”

She snorts. “You don't have to be so formal,” she teases gently. It strikes him the wrong way, somehow, and he blinks, trying not to be offended. She offers a soft apology before he heads into the gas station he's stopped at and uses the restroom. When he returns, she's not at the car so he waits. She comes out from the shop a moment later and gives him an apologetic look.

“I'm sorry,” she says.

He shrugs. “It's fine.” He doesn't know why he got so upset about it. But as he stood outside, his mind was whirling with thoughts of handlers over the year, taunts and mockery. He's glad that they're stopping at a hotel for the night and the mission is tomorrow. His head isn't 'on straight' – and he isn't sure where that phrase comes from either. He's erratic.

He swallows, thinking of wipes, and shrugs again.

“Are you ready?” he looks to her. She nods.

She takes the driver's seat this time and they head on.

 

At Sault Ste Marie, he lets Natasha handle everything as usual. They choose a motel with the door to the room leading outside, which is a relief to him. The faster they can flee, the better.

Then again, someone could always kick the door in.

They eat a dinner of smoothies Natasha packed for them – kale, she teases with a gentle smile. He actually gives her the slighest smile in turn. She also got them some sandwiches from a restaurant. He eats about half of his before his hunger really kicks in and he finishes it.

He refuses to sleep on the bed, annoyed when Natalia tries to insist.

“You can't be comfortable on the floor,” she says. She's lying in bed, wearing actual pajamas. He rolls his eyes at her and lies on the floor between the beds. He does have a blanket on the floor, and a pillow. She peers over the edge of her bed at him, making faces. He reaches up with his metal hand to grab her nose, but she's too quick and she laughs softly at him.

Amused, he rolls his eyes at her and lies on his side. The room's temperature is comfortable and he feels comfortable enough in his clothes, minus his boots. He has a pistol at his side and of course, he's still wearing his knives. He also takes his belt off at Natalia's urging. The baby isn't even showing and she's already so concerned for it that it makes him smile as he falls asleep.

He drifts off while Natalia watches tv quietly – mostly local news from what he can tell. She's watching some movie when he falls asleep.

 

Sault Ste Marie is pleasant in the morning. They aren't far from the water when he steps out of their motel room, and he's pleased to see boats on the water. They eat breakfast at a cafe, watching the boats.

“Where do you want to raise your child?” she asks, surprising him. She's having coffee this morning, instead of tea. He has a coffee too, but it's more plain than hers. He can't drink anything too rich or it will make him sick.

He thinks about it for a moment, looking at the water. Then he shrugs.

“Maybe... here?” he smirks. Then he shrugs again, his right shoulder. It's usually the one he shrugs with, especially in public like this. He was slightly annoyed at eating out for breakfast, but this has turned out to be nice.

“This is a nice place,” she says. “Canada is a nice country. Very picturesque.”

He nods in agreement, taking another sip of his coffee.

“Not Russia?” she jokes. He snorts and shakes his head.

“Why would I do that to a child?”

“Hey,” she feigns offense. “I had a very happy childhood in Russia.”

He starts to shake with laughter and she grins, sticking her tongue out at him.

“You're crazy,” he tells her. It's the first time he's really insulted her. But she just smirks. He's surprised. He feels a little anxious, but mostly elated. Maybe it's the coffee.

He looks at the water again. It reminds him of something, somewhere else, but he isn't sure that he wants to remember.

“Somewhere simple,” he says. “Quiet, like this.”

She nods, looking at the water too.

He can see it in his mind, walking a small child, holding their hand. He would hold their hand with his flesh hand, so that he would never crush theirs or hurt them. He'll take them to walk by the water, like this place, point the boats out to them. He pictures them in a puffy jacket to block the wind, himself crouching by them. He doesn't know why, but he pictures a little girl.

What will he name her? What if it's a boy?

He pictures a little boy instead and his heart twists. He thinks of a little blonde boy for some reason, with hair like a duckling's feathers. He would like that. He will like it either way, whether it's a girl or a boy. Because it will be his.

There are so many questions and while they unnerve him, he doesn't find them frightening. If anything, they make him smile.

She catches him smiling and hums, winking at him over her coffee. He smirks and looks around them. He can see a mother nearby, pushing a stroller. There's another woman next to her, holding a toddler on her hip. The woman pushing the stroller is pregnant. He wonders if they're sisters and where they live, how they live. What is it like to be a mother? To be a... a father?

Is he the father of his child?

It's a puzzling question and one that makes him frown in thought at the table.

“What's wrong?”

He looks up at Natalia and licks his lips. The question sounds stupid out loud. He shrugs a shoulder.

“Am I... a mother or a father?”

She looks surprised for a moment, then recovers quickly, her eyes softening. She looks at her cup in thought. Then she looks up at him.

“Whichever you want to be.”

He tilts his head at her, giving her a narrow eyed look.

“That's a copout,” he accuses. She snorts, lifting her cup to take a sip of it. When she's finished swallowing, she speaks again.

“Maybe it is. But it's also up to you how you identify.”

That's a thought he hasn't dwelled on much in the past few days. He's mostly been concerned with his survival. Then he began living with Natalia at her safehouse and he was focused on his health.

Now... Now he thinks of the things he read on the internet. The video of the captain.

He thinks of himself, sitting there in his jacket and jeans. He thinks of the muscles on his body, the hair growing on it, and the place between his thighs.

“I'm a man,” he says finally, looking up at her. He almost expects laughter or teasing. But she's solemn. Her eyes seem to be lit up though. She smiles a little and nods.

“So you are.”

He thinks some more, eyes on the table again, then following a boat.

“I'm the father,” he tells Natalia. She nods.

“I look forward to being a tetya,” she teases and smiles a little more, then smirks. He smirks back and shakes his head.

“Tetya Natalia.”

Finally they are on their way again. He's almost sorry to leave Sault Ste Marie behind. 

 

* * *

 

It takes hours. Bucky's starting to wonder if Natasha knows anyone who has a small plane they could rent. This trip is taking too long for his liking. He thinks of the days when he was the asset, working for Hydra under SHIELD – all the resources they had available. They would have been in Selkirk _yesterday_ if they had a quinjet.

He frowns when he realizes his chest is feeling sensitive, adjusting the strap of the seatbelt. He read that breast sensitivity was a symptom, but he didn't think it would bother him, somehow. Why does everything have to be so complicated?

He thinks back to his imaginings at the port – a little girl in a puffy jacket, her hand in his as they walked together along the boardwalk, looking out at the boats. He thinks of a little body, warm and safe in his arms as he holds her up to his shoulder, a chubby little face with lips like his and blue eyes.

What if she doesn't look like him? What if she looks like whoever the father is?

He doesn't even know who the father is.

What if it's _Pierce?_ What if she _looks_ like Pierce? Will he be able to look at her every day and feel anything other than disgust?

He blinks as his eyes begin to fill with water. Stupid, useless emotions! He huffs and wipes at his eyes angrily with his flesh hand, then feels his face heat as Natalia notices.

“What's wrong?”

“Nothing,” he snaps. She scowls.

“Jeez... okay.” She turns her attention back to the road.

Then he feels bad, because Natalia is a good friend and he knows he can trust her. He shouldn't talk to her like that.

Is he imagining things? Maybe she isn't his friend. Maybe she's only doing this because he's Steve's friend and she views him as a burden-

What is wrong with him? Why is he so concerned about what Natalia thinks?

Well she's his friend isn't she? At least, she was his student once. And isn't that messed up! He used to beat her and blast her with a hose as discipline when she was younger. What if he gets angry and does that to his little girl?

He sniffles and wipes at his eyes again, glaring out the window.

“Do you want me to pull over?”

“No,” he says, biting back the urge to snap at her again. It isn't fair. Natalia is just exhibiting concern for him. She's his friend.

He takes a deep breath and exhales slowly. He winces. His back hurts, probably from being in a car for so damn long, and his knees are starting to bother him too. He stretches one leg, then the other. He can feel Natasha wanting to ask 'Are you sure you don't want to stop again?' but she holds her tongue.

 

They do stop when they reach White River, three hours away from Sault Ste Marie. 

Natalia insists on taking a walk here, a small smirk on her face as they do. Bucky rolls his eyes but accompanies her. He narrows his eyes when she giggles as they arrive at a statue of a tree. In the tree is a yellow bear with a red shirt and a pot of something under its arm.

Natalia then astounds him by skipping around the statue and singing.

“ _Winnie-the-Pooh! Winnie-the-Pooh!_

_Chubby little cubby all stuffed with fluff,_

_He's Winnie-the-Pooh! Winnie-the-Pooh!_

_Willy nilly silly old bear!”_

He gives her a raised eyebrow and she bursts into laughter, slowing to a stop. She turns and gestures for him to move closer to the statue.

He does and he sees a plaque there. With a frown, he starts to read.

He hears a clicking noise and looks up with widened eyes, a threat in them. She took a picture ofh im on her phone!

“Natalia!” he hisses. She lets out a snicker and wriggles out of his reach.

“I won't show anyone!” she insists in Russian. “I promise.”

He breathes in and exhales heavily, shaking his head at her, but he goes back to looking at the bear in the tree.

“What is this?” he asks.

“It's Winnie-the-Pooh.” She explains.

“Yes, I gathered that. But why is it... what is it here for?”

“It's to commemorate the bear who was the inspiration for the story. She came from here. It's a series of children's books written a long time ago-”

“Arthur Milne,” he says, his eyes far off. His brow furrows as he recalls... stuffed bears. A little girl asking for stories. Piglet. _Steve_.

 _'He's like Piglet,'_ he can hear her giggling now and something inside of him hurts. He looks at the statue and swallows.

She's watching him curiously, head tilted.

Natalia. He remembers a little girl hidden in the wardrobe in his room, reading books she wasn't supposed to read. Romance novels, probably, terrible ones.

_'Tell me a story?'_

He blinks, eyeing the bear, then looking around them, nervous. They're so out in the open here.

Then he looks at Natalia and his lips tug at the corners. He thinks about her skipping around the tree and singing some ludicrous child's song.

He huffs, in spite of himself, and lets a smile cross his face. Then he looks at her again.

“Thank you.”

She looks surprised, almost touched, but recovers quickly and holds her phone up, gesturing.

“Smile!” she says. “Pose for me.”

He smirks and rolls his eyes, but he goes to stand by the tree, raising his flesh arm to touch the branch above his head where Winnie-the-Pooh rests perpetually, watching over the town. The strangest little thought occurs to him, that he hopes children do come to visit the bear.

Why is he so sentimental lately? Ugh!

Natasha takes a picture of him smiling a little and he thinks it must be the only picture of him, smiling, like this. The only picture of him free. The only picture of him pregnant.

He thinks that maybe one day – as he moves to stand next to her to see himself in it – he'll show this to his child and tell them all about... About everything. Well, not everything, but that their papa – their _papa_ – escaped the bad men and how he and Tetya Natalia journeyed across Canada to fight them.

How they stopped just to see a silly bear statue.

He puts an arm around her, causing her to tense and look up at him, puzzled. Then he leans in and presses a kiss to her forehead.

She's blushing and smiling a little when he pulls away and so is he. He shakes her gently, his metal hand resting on her opposite shoulder, arm around her back.

“Wanna eat something?” she breaks up the awkwardness as usual. With food. She's smart.

He nods. “Sure.”

They turn and leave Winnie-the-Pooh. He doesn't glance back – that's too sappy even for him, even pregnant – but he vows that one day he'll bring his child to visit Winnie-the-Pooh. Just like he'll take her – them – to the docks by Sault Ste Marie. Maybe they could make a roadtrip of it.

He doesn't know why he keeps picturing a little girl. But it warms his chest.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can read about the true Winnie bear here: 
> 
> http://www.whiteriver.ca/article/winnie-the-pooh-white-river-ontario-6.asp 
> 
> I got inspiration for Bucky reading AA Milne to his little sister from a fanfiction called 'Little Lies to Get Me By' which you can read here: 
> 
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/1603526/chapters/3412676


	8. Amnesia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha and Bucky continue their trip through Canada. As they grow closer to Selkirk, Bucky has doubts about his ability to raise a child.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song referenced in this chapter is “Amnesia” by 5 Seconds of Summer and it is so angsty hahaha... Ahh, it totally fits Bucky and Steve though.   
> I know this has taken forever to update. I'm really trying to finish my fanfiction!   
> I also edited Chapter 3 because I looked back and saw a comment where someone reminded me that they never actually looked at the results of the pregnancy test. So I added that in if you want to go back and read that.   
> You'll be pleased to see that some of your comments about Canada have been incorporated into this chapter. :) Enjoy!   
> Mostly light, fluffy friendship and a little bit of angst.

Sault St Marie was a paradise and they were fools to ever leave it, Bucky decides.

If they could just actually get to White River, that would be fantastic. But instead they are stopped because someone had an accident with a moose and the moose won – Natalia went to look earlier. Natasha is humming along to some garbage on the radio while they wait for the road to be cleared and Bucky is sick of listening to the damn radio.

He sighs, rubbing his belly and wondering how his life is so bizarre that this reminds him of so many missions, so many trips in cars with whining HYDRA agents that he can't even pinpoint just one.

He remembers being in the passenger side of a car just like this one, but a different model and make. Some small four door. A 'piece of shit' according to the driver who may have been Rumlow at one point. He thinks he remembers being stuck at a rail crossing and Rumlow cursing and hitting the steering wheel while someone chuckled in the backseat and lit up a cigarette as they rolled the windows down.

“Just chill, man.” The words are a ghostly memory with the tail end of laughter on them.

His head aches now and he thinks it did then. He thinks he remembers having a soda to sip on – a styrofoam cup with a straw, but he isn't sure and he doesn't know why they would have bought him a soda.

Oh, they did things like that sometimes, he guesses. They had _moments_ of kindness.

He feels irritated by the memories and ends up snapping at Natalia when she leans over to crow along in his ear. She's listening to some obnoxious pop music.

“ _I remember the makeup running down your face!”_

“Stop!” he snaps. He can hear Rollins laughing in the back of his mind 'Just chill, man.'

Natasha blinks, rearing back and staring at him.

“Okay...” she turns the annoying song down. It's whiny and Bucky hates it. He's never hated a song so much. He presses the window button and turns away, to glare out into the day but there isn't really any fresh air outside. It's gotten hot and muggy and when he last rolled the window down he got bugs in his face. Obnoxious gnats. His head hurts and his back is starting to ache, down near his tail bone, and he's sick of being in this damn car.

He blinks and sniffs, ashamed of himself. He cringes. He shouldn't have yelled at Natalia.

“ _If what we had was real then how could you be fine?”_ the radio whispers.

He hates everything right now, including and especially himself. Because Natalia has been nothing but kind to him. He would be punished by Hydra for such an outburst. Slapped at the very least, and then probably beaten or... or worse if Pierce heard about it.

He swallows, afraid to look at Natalia.

“Jeez,” she says quietly. “Are you mad at me?”

She actually sounds concerned and he glances at her.

“No,” he shakes his head, then leans his temple on a hand, his elbow resting on the car door. “I'm just... tired. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap.”

“You okay?”

He blinks, puzzled. He just shouted at her.

“ _I wish that I could wake up with amnesia,”_ the song continues quietly.

He scoffs. What a stupid song! Having amnesia is terrible and he's sick of not knowing anything about himself until glimpses of horrible things from his past come bubbling up.

“Want me to change the station?” she offers. He nods.

“Please. I... I'm sorry I yelled at you.”

“It's okay. I was probably being pesky,” she winks at him. Then she sighs and rests her hands on the steering wheel as she looks at the car stopped ahead of them.

“Wow it is taking forever for them to get this cleared up. You should go look at the car – that moose _annihilated_ that car.”

“I don't want to see the car,” he snorted.

“So I was looking on my phone and it turns out White River has some good milkshakes.”

He looks at her, making a face and rubbing his stomach with a hand. Even though he doesn't have much of a belly yet, his hand keeps gravitating there. He realized this morning while investigating his reflection and rubbing his stomach that he could feel a firmness there that didn't exist before and every time his fingers rub it now, he feels a thrill run through his chest.

Life is growing inside of him. He will be a papa in only seven more months. But first he has to make the world a better place by getting rid of Hydra and to do that he has to get to Selkirk and they can't do that while there's a damn moose in the way!

He huffs and leans againt the door.

“Tired?” Natalia asks.

He nods. He crosses his arms over his chest, the plates in his arm recalibrating as he does and Natalia laughs.

“Whoo! Someone's cranky.” She teases.

He gives her a mock glare then settles back to take a nap. He only means to sleep for a few minutes but he ends up sleeping until they get to White River.

 

* * *

 

Natalia wakes him when they arrive to a little town just before White River called 'Wawa.'

“Wow. This place doesn't even have a Tim Hortons,” she snorts. “Talk about the middle of nowhere.” He groans as he gets out of the car and stretches. His back aches and now his knees are bothering him. He also has a crick in his neck. Wonderful.

“I thought _most_ of Canada was the middle of nowhere,” he's surprised at how easy it is to do this, to share his opinions and to be part of a conversation like this. But talking to Natasha is somehow easy, easier than he would have imagined. He feels the warning note in his chest – _don't get too close, don't get attached_ \- but he reminds himself that he's going to have to learn to trust, at least trust Natasha if he's going to have this baby.

The idea that he's having this baby and that he's going to be so _vulnerable_ is frightening. It won't end after he gives birth to her either. How will he be a father to a little girl, keep her safe while he's still learning to walk and speak? How will he keep her safe long term from-

Ugh, and he doesn't want to get started thinking about all of that. They go for a stroll just to stretch their legs.

Bucky laughs and scoffs as they find a ridiculous statue of a goose.

“What is it with these Canadians and their silly statues?” he ponders aloud in Russian as he approaches it.

She snorts. “I don't know!”

He ends up letting Natasha take pictures of him and gets his revenge when he sneakily snatches her phone from her.

“No, no, no,” he backs away from her as she tries to grab it. “Let me take one picture of you! You keep getting pictures of _me!_ ”

She rolls her eyes and lets her hand fall, turning to slump back to the goose statue.

“Fiiine!”

She smiles, doing a Vanna-White-in-Wheel-of-Fortune pose as she stands before the goose. Bucky is laughing and having fun taking the picture when it occurs to him that he hasn't even looked around to see if anyone is watching them. His smile fades as he realizes this, glancing around.

“What is it?” Natasha says as he hands back the phone.

"Nothing. I just... think we should keep moving." 

She smiles a little at him, bemused. "That was you," she snorts suddenly, covering her lips with a hand. "Constant vigilance! Oh my god..." she nearly falls over as she laughs. "You're Mad-Eye!" 

"What?" He scowls at her. 

"I used to think that when I was reading _Harry Potter_. I'd think about you." She tells him about the character and he rolls his eyes. 

"That's Nick Fury you're thinking of," he says, then internally cringes. He _shot_ Nick Fury. Natasha looks at him, her lips twitching, then she starts laughing again. 

"What?" he asks, exasperated. "What is so funny?" He's about to start laughing himself as he glances around. A woman walking by smiles a little at them and he shakes his head as if he has no idea what's wrong with Natasha. He then looks away, nervous. He glances over his shoulder at the woman but Natasha is still chuckling. 

"Oh man," she wipes at the corner of one of her eyes. " _You're_ funny." 

"I don't see why I'm funny," he grumbles. She continues to chuckle as they head back to the car. 

 

* * *

 

He is in a much better mood when they have lunch and he even enjoys part of a milkshake though he finds he can't stomach all of it. He was just craving something thick and sweet so he ordered the malted chocolate shake. Canada seems to have a love affair with poutine so at Natalia's urging he tried some and found it delicious but he knows he can't eat too much of anything with how sensitive his stomach can be.

They pass by White Lake Provincial Park and Bucky actually gets a good laugh when Natalia has to slow down because of a moose.

“Oh no no no no no,” she says in a high pitched voice as she presses on the brake, bringing the car to a slow halt. The moose scampers off into the forest, a large hulking shape that leaves Bucky's heart fluttering, a hand over his mouth. He looks at her and then bursts into laughter.

He continues to chuckle about it as they drive onward, Natalia's face burning.

“Shut up,” she says when he keeps giggling about it.

“Hah!” he points at her, getting his revenge for earlier and she gives him a weird look with a raised eyebrow, but snorts herself. He can't seem to stop giggling.

 

They take a break from the road again at Red Rock because Bucky _can't seem to stop having to pee_ , which is really just embarrassing. Natasha teases him as he hurries to the bathroom as soon a the car is stopped at a gas station.

“Shut up,” he calls back grumpily. “Not you,” he adds to an older woman who gives him an affronted look. He nearly laughs when he's in the bathroom.

He sits on the toilet to pee as usual, not thinking much about it. When he emerges from the stall, however, he notices someone watching him curiously. The man is standing at a urinal, but he looks away quickly when Bucky emerges.

Bucky frowns as he washes his hands, then hurries out.

Despite his need to keep peeing, he stops and gets a soda anyway, finding he desires the caffeine and sugar.

 

“Not good for your baby,” Natasha waggles a finger at him.

“Don't care,” he flips her off and they both laugh.

“You're getting pretty punchy,” she says. “I like it.”

His cheeks flush.

“Don't care,” he says and flips her off again and she snorts, shaking her head. It makes him smile slightly. He's starting to feel nervous, he realizes, looking out the window. More and more anxious as they reach their destination. What will they find in Selkirk? Will there be anything to lead him to the 'father' of his child? Any clues to the man's identity?

He considers the possibility of it being Pierce and feels ill. He doesn't know if... if he could stand to look at the man's features on his child every day. The man who kept him... tortured him... lectured and lied to him. The man who used him countless times to sow chaos and build Hydra's empire.

He takes a deep breath and looks out the window.

 

He wakes up some time later and realizes that he drifted off when they got moving again. He grunts and stretches as Natasha smiles at him.

“Welcome back to the land of the living,” she teases. “We're almost to Thunder Bay.”

“What will we do when we reach Selkirk?” he asks. Her smile fades as she moves her gaze back to the road.

“Poke around, see what we find. I was thinking we get a hotel room in Winnipeg since it's not too far from Selkirk. It's a bigger city so we won't stand out too much there. If we stay in Selkirk, people will probably notice.”

He feels a chill down his spine. What if they stood out too much while he was busy enjoying himself in White River and Sault Ste Marie? What if someone noticed that they looked familiar? Natalia will be recognizable with her fiery red hair. She's the infamous Black Widow, the Avenger with perhaps the darkest history aside from Banner. Bucky... Bucky is the Winter Soldier. There hasn't been a lot of information about him in the media yet, but police know that he's dangerous. He's a “terrorist” linked to Hydra, and the world desperately wants someone to take as their scapegoat for what happened to Washington DC.

He rubs his stomach, trying not to think too much about being captured in his state. Would they know that he's pregnant? Would they find out?

Does Hydra already know?

“Hey,” Natasha said. “You need to stop?”

He looks at her and shakes his head, a wry smile coming to his lips. There's no stopping his life, which is crazy itself. There's no way for him to stop being who he is.

“Im fine,” he says.

He could end the pregnancy. It would be the easiest choice. Well maybe not the easiest, but it would clearly be the best choice. The most sensible, tactical choice.

But he keeps thinking of a little form in his arms, keeps seeing himself pointing at something through a window, showing a little girl the world. His heart tugs in his chest and he wants nothing more than to hold her, to have his own child. To have _someone_ of his own.

Maybe it's wrong. Maybe it's selfish. But he thinks that after everything he's endured... doesn't he deserve something? Some piece of happiness.

It is selfish. He contemplates telling Natasha as he looks out through the window. She could help him find somewhere to... maybe even in Thunder Bay there might be...

He shakes his head. He can't. Not... not until he knows. He rubs his belly.

_What if it's his? What if it's Stevie's?_

So what if it's his? What obligation does the soldier have to...

He's not the soldier. He's Bucky Barnes. And... And he owes Steve his life.

Is this an excuse? An excuse not to throw it away? An excuse to hold on... to some hope for...

He knows it's selfish. His throat feels tight and his eyes are wet again as he looks out the window and the miles go by. He swallows and he knows that it's unfair. The life he will subject this child to... Even if he _is_ able to stop running one day... Everyone will know. Everyone will know who she is. Everyone will judge her because of who her father is.

He scoffs, shaking his head. He doesn't even know that it's going to be a little girl.

“Whatcha thinkin?' Natasha asks.

He sighs and relaxes back into the car's seat.

“Nothing. Just...” he clears his throat, sniffing. He wipes quickly at his eyes with his flesh hand, his head still turned so he's looking out the window, away from her. “Just wondering about the future.”

Natasha nods.

“There's no point, you know.”

“No point to what?” he gives her a guarded look, afraid that she knows exactly what he's thinking about. That she's going to try and convince him to... to get rid of it.

“Thinking about the future. That's what they used to tell us in the Red Room. Messed up, right? They wanted us to imagine the glorious day when Communism came. You know, the day when everything was perfect and right.”

He huffs, nodding. He remembers the talks, the lectures, the propaganda. Even in his early days as the Soldier, as “the American” he was taught to revere Stalin, to look at the coming of Communism like the coming of Christ. They gave him books to read in his cell, but they were books about Marx, about Lenin, about a glorious revolution. The Russians told him what to think just as much as American Hydra did.

“When I was finally free,” she said. “I realized... there was a point to it. I was allowed to have dreams. I was allowed to have... ideas. I could make plans. But then the Chitauri came...”

She glanced at him and he looked at her.

“And you happened.” She smirked.

“Sorry,” he said, smiling wryly.

“No you're not,” she stuck her tongue out at him and he actually chuckled. “Anyway... I realized you can make plans... but you can't control everything. Might as well try to enjoy the moment.”

He frowns. It sounds too much like... like being in Hydra. Except that he didn't 'enjoy' the moment. It wasn't about him enjoying anything. He did, however, live moment to moment. Mission to mission. Wipe to wipe. Bullet to skull. Knife to ribs.

“How can I do that now?” he wondered, glancing out the window again as darkening trees swept by. The sun was setting. Another day spent on the road. He'd spent most of the day napping or trying not to think.

“Just... talk to me. Live. Enjoy the sunlight,” she glanced toward the line of trees. “Enjoy everything you can. You're not... there anymore.”

He bristled a little inside. “I know that.”

She nodded. He was relieved that the conversation seemed to be over. He couldn't say why.

Even if he didn't belong to Hydra anymore... It wasn't as if they'd gone away for good. Not yet.

But Bucky was going to make that happen. If anyone spoke about Hydra, years from now, it would be in whispers. He reminded himself of this vow when the lights of Thunder Bay came into view. He had time before the baby was born. He was going to make sure Hydra regretted ever letting Bucky Barnes live.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise Natasha and Bucky's Road Trip XTravaganza is almost over. xD This really was NOT meant to be a road trip fic.   
> I love you, noble readers! <3


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